


August 16th

by MonroeStyne



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred has had enough bullshit, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bat Brothers, Batfamily Feels, Birthday, Broken Families, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Dick and Roy are friends, Family, Feels, Gen, Happy Birthday Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote my own story since I hated what DC did, Injury, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd had a horrible childhood, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd-centric, Jason deserves better, Jaytemis feels, Major Character Injury, Matter of Life and Death, Mentions of past drug abuse, No more forgiveness, POV Multiple, Post RHATO 25, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Trying to heal, batbros, batfam, mentions of past rape, rhato - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2019-09-11 22:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16861222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonroeStyne/pseuds/MonroeStyne
Summary: After the events of RHaTO #25, a broken Jason is being taken care of by his old team: Roy and Kori. The day is August 16th and Jason's brothers reflect on his broken promise, if their family will ever be the same again, and how they wished his 20th birthday would have gone differently. Rated T for some language. Written for Jason's birthday, sorry you drew the short straw buddy.





	1. A Burt Out Candle

It was cold in their apartment. Well, it was cold in  _ Roy’s  _ apartment. Jason hadn’t woken up for a few days now and the scarlet archer was way past worrying. It took every ounce of Roy’s being to not go after Batman right now for what had gone down. He wore a pathway into the hardwood floors with his pacing, freezing every so often just to be reassured by the sound of Jason’s raspy, shallow breathing. Kori sits in the parlor, eyes glued to Jason’s face, beaten and bloody and bruised and swollen and… broken under the white gauze. Fierce blue eyes gone dim long before he even lost consciousness. Defeated in every sense of the world, unrecognizable. 

 

Roy brings a hand to the bridge of his nose, it’s sweaty and his hands tremble. It’s been days since he or Kori have slept, terrified that Jason will simply give up, and slip away into the darkness, out of reach forever. The archer runs a hand through his unkempt amber hair and heaves a sigh, he gives in to exhaustion and collapses into a chair by Jason’s side. Cautiously he  peels back the bandage over Jay’s right eye, cringing internally when he sees the deep purple, the swelling and the blood still oozing from the gash adjacent to it. It  _ had _ been neatly stitched, but in Jason’s most recent moment of lucidity, where he came too screaming and thrashing around, he had ripped nearly every stitch in his body. That was three days ago. 

 

Roy lets himself wonder if Jason will ever be able to see again, the damage to his right eye is pretty severe to say the least. He has a broken orbital socket, no broken isn’t the right word, crushed. Because Bruce just kept coming and coming and coming, and ignored the feeling of the shattered bones of his  _ son  _ beneath his fist. Roy allows a small growl of anger, and lets himself count the cuts and scrapes now littering his best friend’s face.  It took them forty-five minutes to pull every shard of helmet from his skin.

 

The red archer stands again out of frustration and resumes his pacing.  _ What if I hadn’t been in Gotham that night? What would Bruce had done to him? Thrown him into Arkham Asylum with the rest of his broken toys? Beaten him into a vegetative state? Locked him deep within the Batcave where no one would think to look? Hand him over to Amanda Waller and forget about him?  _ Jason was almost on death’s door when he showed up. A bitter chuckle claws its way up Roy’s throat. How ironic the whole thing was.

 

Roy couldn’t let himself think about it. But two things were for certain: Batman should be punished, and Oliver Queen really isn’t that bad when you think about it. But Roy understood where Bruce was coming from, not to the extreme that it escalated too, but the bottom line. Jason broke a promise, he broke  _ the  _ promise. The big rule, the glass ceiling. He got that, and he had yet to ask Jason why he did it because Jay’s only few moments of consciousness since the… incident, was mostly terrified screaming, begging or glassy-eyed stares. Whatever Jason did, it would never excuse the pure violence and rage that he saw on that rooftop. If Roy hadn’t known any better it looked just like any old abusive father and son, lord knows he’s seen plenty.

 

Roy stops pacing and sits down on the chair adjacent to Kori, keeping a careful eye on his best friend’s nearly collapsed rib cage as it rises, and falls. He can feel his eyes burning, and doesn’t have the strength to fight off his emotions. The rage, grief, pain, and the overwhelming hopelessness that has settled somewhere deep within his lungs. Roy closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe.

 

_ After momentarily incapacitating Batman and grabbing Jason, they barely made it to a secret safe house before Jason collapsed and started bleeding all over his craigslist couch. It wasn’t safe in Gotham so after contacting Kori it was only a matter of time before they were going to get the hell out of this country. Roy let himself breathe for a second before cataloging Jason’s injuries and wrapping a sheet around his middle, tying it tightly to stop the bleeding and stabilize his ribs. The movement roused Jason just long enough for him to contort in pain and let out an agonized groan, then he slipped away again.  _

 

_ A broken collarbone, a few busted ribs, a bruised lung, a dislocated shoulder, a seriously fucked up face, a laundry list of cuts and scrapes, another laundry list of bruised bones, and one hell of a massive concussion. His heart stopped twice.  _

 

Roy buries his head in his hands and releases a trembling breath. “What are going to do?” The tinge of hopelessness palpable in his voice. Kori shifts in her chair and when she places a warm hand on his shoulder he can feel it trembling. 

 

“Whatever we must.” she responds quietly.

 

“Whatever we must.”

 

The room again goes silent and all they can do is watch Jason struggle for breath, and pray he keeps breathing through the night.

  
  


***

***

 

“Just tell me he’s okay- No. Just tell me he’s alive.” Tim runs a hand through his hair gripping tightly to a fistful of strands in frustration. His words come out in angry huffs of air, nearly making him dizzy. The last few days he’s been trying fruitlessly to get in contact with anyone who might know where Jason is. When he found out it was Roy Harper that came to his brother’s rescue it didn’t take the teen long to track down a phone number. He’d never been so happy to hear that name. Roy Harper. 

 

For days now Tim has merely been searching in every known safe house in all of Gotham, convincing himself that if Jason were dead he definitely would’ve been informed. He would right? Yes, of course. When he’d checked the last safe house on the west side of crime alley to find the living room soaked in blood and speckled with fragments of red helmet, that’s when he really got desperate. He would’ve confronted Bruce about it if he’d thought it would get him anywhere, also Tim had already separated himself from his family, but there are some things that you can’t ignore.

 

After watching Jason shoot Oswald Cobblepot on screen Tim knew it was just a matter of time before Bruce would get involved. What bothered Tim was that he knew that Jason knew that Bruce was going to flip his shit when he saw, so why? Why do it? There had to be a pretty good reason for Jason to jeopardize everything, to throw everything away for the sake of killing this man, and not even the Joker. Penguin? He just didn’t get it.

 

Tim drags his mind back to the present moment. A phone grasped a little too tightly in his hand, the sound of an exhausted man on the other end of the line. The city was still shaken from that nights events and the streets have been strangely empty ever since then. A cool breeze flutters through his open window, despite the warm night, freezing the drops of sweat on Tim’s forehead. He goes to close it but stops when Roy finally speaks up.

 

“Yes he’s alive… sorta. His body is working but he’s been in a coma for days. Your pops really did a number on him.” The bitterness drains from Harpers voice almost as quickly as it appeared, “He’s broken and- and I just don’t know how to fix him. If you could see him you would know what I mean. He’s not just broken in the sense that about  60% of the bones in his body are broken. It’s him. Even before I got him off of that rooftop he was- I don’t know how to explain it really. There was no fight in him, he didn’t even lift a finger to Bruce. And his eyes, they’ve… dimmed.”

 

A wave of vertigo takes Tim by the hand and guides him to a nearby chair. 

 

“He didn’t fight back?” His voice doesn’t sound like his own.

 

“No. Not even a little bit.” Roy sounds exhausted, he sounds defeated, and Tim feels the same things spreading throughout him. 

 

“Where are you? I want to see him.” 

 

“I’m sorry kid.” was all he answered and before Tim could say another word the line went dead. 

 

Looking down at his desk he tried to decide what this meant for him, for his family. How is Dick taking this? Will Jason ever come back to them? What does Alfred think of Bruce’s display of uncontrolled rage? Tim will never know, because as far as he’s concerned, from this moment on until Jason is in his sights again, his only responsibility is doing everything in his power to keep his brother alive. Family isn’t going to fail Jason this time, because this time he has Tim.

 

Sitting at his computer Tim replays the news footage again and again, and then he catches it. The way Jason pulls back at the last second. Tim pauses the footage and maps the trajectory of the bullet. A small smile jumps to his lips and he lets out a huff of a laugh. 

 

“You son of a bitch.”

 

Jason was never aiming to kill Cobblepot. Tim should have known the minute the man stabilized and was pronounced ‘lucky to be alive’. There was no luck involved, Jason doesn’t miss. If cobblepot is alive it’s because Jason wanted him to be. How could Bruce not see this? Was he so blinded by his corrupt sense of justice to not notice? 

 

Tim wrings his hands and closes the tabs on his laptop, glancing at the date the knot in his stomach twists itself  tighter. August 16th. Tim allows a bittersweet smile to dance across his face before it's gone. Jason is 20 years old today. Small ash colored memories dance through his head, Jason hopping onto his balcony and sharing breakfast with him, the way it feels to fight alongside him. Every small moment of joy they shared, and then they were gone. 

 

“Happy Birthday Jason.”

 

The words hang in the air for a moment before being swept away in the bitter wind.

 

***

***

 

Dick doesn’t trust Bruce to handle most things when it comes to Jason, and obviously for good reason too. He slumps into his couch cutting off his phone call with Tim in frustration. He’s called everyone he’s thought to think of, and that small glimmer of hope he’s kept so carefully maintained is flickering. He just doesn’t understand, the family was finally getting along, or so he thought. 

 

_ Stupid stupid stupid!  _

 

Dick pushes the heel of his hands into his temples, interlocking his fingers in a last ditch effort to fight off the headache that’s already beginning to colonize.  _ What is happening? What has happened? _ Dick has no answers for himself or anyone else for that matter. He’s frustrated, conflicted and most importantly exhausted. Dick asks himself why there can’t be a time where everyone is just… happy. Is that too much to ask? For himself and his self proclaimed family of misfits to feel happy? Then he stops, and wonders if there was a time when Jason felt  _ truly  _ happy, and the fact that he has to think about it only deepens the whole in the bottom of his heart.

 

He stares down at his phone, thumb hovering over Bruce’s contact. He knows he can’t call him, can’t hold a level headed conversation with him. That is if Bruce even answered, he would hang up before Dick had a chance to ask “Hey so you beat up your own mentally tortured kid… What was that all about?” A low growl crawls its way up Dick’s spine and he jumps to his feet to fight off the chill it brings. 

 

There’s only one person that he hasn’t tried yet, due to past issues he doesn’t care to bring to light, but, well, desperate times right? He digs through his contacts until he comes across Roy’s number, he heaves a heavy breath and dials. One ring, two, three, “Hello?” 

 

“Harper, it’s Dick. Listen I-”

 

“Save it bird brain I know what you’re going to say. You can’t see him and don’t bother trying to trace the call. Goodbye-”

 

“Wait! Wait Roy, please. Please I just want to know if he’s okay. Roy please he’s my little brother.” An uneasy and far to lengthy silence follows before Roy responds with a gruff, “Define okay.”

 

“Just let me talk to him.”

 

“No can do Dick, and it’s not just me not wanting you to talk to him. He’s been in and out over the last few days and right now he’s sleeping like a brick.” The comment is meant to be funny, disarming, but it’s way too strained to even come close to hitting it’s mark. Dick is just about to respond when Roy speaks up.

 

“Listen Dick, I know you care, I know you love ‘em, but right now he’s under my protection and he needs to heal up. I’ll text you an address once he’s had some time to be lucid again. I’ll see you soon… Hopefully.”

 

The call ends leaving Dick with a  _ thank you  _ dying on his lips and he feels so…  **_hollow_ ** , and he doesn’t understand why. Then it hits him. The date. August 16th. Jay’s 20th birthday. Jay’s 20th birthday and he’s hidden away in some safe house somewhere, beaten and broken. The thought makes Dick want to break some bones. Instead he hurls himself back into his chair and screams into his hands. 

 

He had plans for today. He was going to take Jason out to dinner and then he was going to convince him to come back to his place for a movie and snacks, y’know… brother stuff. Dick has never done any of those things with Jay before, he thought it would be fun, thought he could introduce some… normalcy into their weird as fuck lives. Instead he’s just going to sit here in this chair, try not to storm over to the manor and bash Bruce’s teeth in, and just hope that somewhere in this god forsaken world, Jason Todd keeps breathing.

 

***

***

 

The Manor has been different since Father went out that night, the air is tight and seems on the verge of snapping at any second. Father’s hand broke against Todd’s helmet and now lay healing under many layers of pristine white gauze. Damian wonders if Todd has access to pristine white gauze, wherever he is. Damian tries to remind himself that he doesn’t care about Todd’s well being, but he does. He’s killed before, he is a trained assassin after all, and Todd is truly the only one who could ever understand what he’s gone through. The small boy sits up in the chair he was lounging in and tries to think about why it happened. And when no explanations come to him he entertains the question of if father would give the same treatment to the rest of them. His conclusion is that no, he wouldn’t. But then again he hadn’t thought of Todd as an exception of this rule and obviously he was wrong. Truth be told he doesn’t know and has no way to be sure.

 

Damian trains his eyes on his father’s face, he hasn’t been sleeping judging by the shadows hanging under his eyes. The cave is filled with the sound of clicking keys as Batman continues to search to his wayward… What? Son? No, not anymore surely. Wayward outlaw? Wayward soldier? Wayward mistake? Or just the villain that got away. Damian knows in his heart that his father must feel love towards this young man despite his wrongs, but how can you bring yourself to beat on someone that you love so... viciously? 

 

Damian doesn’t have an answer but he is sure Pennyworth does. Up to the kitchen he finds Pennyworth cleaning cake pans and wiping down frosting from the kitchen island. Damian takes a seat at the island and crosses his hand on the cool marble surface.

 

“Pennyworth. I have a question for you.”

 

Pennyworth also looks tired, eyes worn down by yet another tragedy,  smile becoming weary.

 

“Master Damian, let us hope that I have an answer.”

 

“What happened between Todd and Father? I understand why Father went out to hurt Todd, he broke Father’s rule, and I understand that Father is anxious about finding Todd but doesn’t father…  _ Love _ Todd?”

 

Pennyworth takes a moment to soak in the information. Before another sad expression slides across his face. 

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you young Master for I find that I do not know Master Bruce as well as I assumed. I too believed that your Father’s love towards all of you would slow his fist and clear his mind but I’m afraid that it is simply not true in Master Jason’s case. I simply don’t know how to explain it young Master. I knew his intention but I never dreamed that Master Bruce would ever do something so vicious to one of his own children.”

 

Pennyworth stops washing dishes, excuses himself and leaves. Walking over to the trash can Damian can see what used to be what he thinks is a birthday cake. Written along the top is neat letters is: Happy Birthday Jason. Now the letters are smudged and unrecognizable, and something inside the young boy stirs that he's never experienced before. Pure, un-egotistical pity, for his  _ brother _ Jason Todd.

 

Determined to do something,  _ say  _ something to answer the questions in his head he makes his way back down to the cave. He’s just about half way down the stairs when he freezes, the sight before him only rattles his confusion greater and strengthens that pang of sympathy. Father, cowl and all, stands in front of Jason’s memorial case. A gloved hand rests on the glass, his head bowed, his breath heavy. Raising his head to meet the invisible face of the young street rat with a wicked sense of humor, Father removes his cowl and scrubs a hand across his face.

 

“I thought things would end differently. For you and I. I pictured college and a future for you Jay-lad. But you’re gone. This- this version of you, the real you, is gone. If everything had gone according to plan you’d be in your junior year of your English degree.”

 

Father releases what resembles a dark chuckle, drenched in regret. He pats the case gently and as he turns away he whispers a quiet “Happy Birthday, Jay-lad” before sitting himself back down at the Batcomputer and resuming his work. 

 

Damian stares, for too long, at the glass case. He ponders what conflicts reside within the minds of his Father and Todd, and the worst part is that he knows neither Father or Todd know the answer. He sighs and walks back down to re-occupy the chair he was napping in earlier. Curling up into a tight ball he watches as the faint ghost of a young Jason Todd flashes across the glass of his case. Maybe Father is right about one thing, that Jason Todd, the old Jason Todd is long gone. So one question still remains: What to do with the Todd we still have?

 

***

***

 

“Kori?”

 

“Yes Roy?”

 

“You know he turns 20 years old today.”

 

“It’s his Birthday? Today?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

The two share a moment of silence, watching as Jason’s lungs struggle against the humid air. 

 

“Next year.”

 

Kori promises.

 

“Next year, will be better.”


	2. Steady Now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand, here's chapter two!! Enjoy!

**Roy**

 

Days pass. Too many days, way too many days actually. They pass like molasses dripping from the bottom of a jar, progress slow and almost unnoticeable. They gave up on the whole patiently waiting thing about two days ago and attempted to rouse him. They shook him gently, then harder, then harder still before in a fit of desperation a certain firey red head left her handprint on his left cheek. Jason refused to stir. Always the stubborn one.

 

With no signs of approaching wakefulness and several days since his last near lucid moment, it’s become more and more likely that Jason stay in his dream land forever. To add to the teams approaching hysteria is that they had put off moving back to their small island home until Jason was awake and stable. But now with them stuck in the same Florida apartment for well over a week the threat of the bats is growing ever stronger. Roy, who had been lost in thought for the better part of an hour abruptly jumps to his feet and growls in a fit of raw frustration, which startles Kori out of her fitful slumber. 

 

“I just don’t get it!” Roy slams his open palm hard on the door frame which faces Jason’s makeshift bed. Roy stalks closer to Jason and topples to the floor, landing indian style by their companions bandaged head. 

 

“What don’t you get?” Questions Kori, who has yet to move from her recliner in the adjacent room. 

 

“Him. This. I don’t get any of it! Like yeah he was put through the wringer but he should be awake by now right?! There’s no reason he shouldn’t be awake right now. Especially with that weird Lazarus pit mojo that helps him heal. This is Fucked! Kori what the hell are we supposed to do?!” 

 

Kori gracefully makes her way to her feet and joins Roy on the floor. 

 

“Roy. Jason may be stable but his body is still working to fix whatever damage was done internally. His organs are bruised and swollen from trauma, not to mention the concussion he suffered. His body needs to repair itself before it can handle waking. I know you know this and you’re just frustrated but your anger is helping no one, especially yourself.”

 

“I know, I know. I just… I just want him to be okay.”

 

Kori casts a sad look over her shoulder at Roy, his hair unkempt and eyes heavy with sleeplessness. She takes in a breath, holds it for awhile, before releasing it in a slow huff of exhaustion.

 

“Roy, I think it’s safe to assume Jason has never really been okay. Has he?”

 

And with that the pair was effectively rendered silent. The dawn approached them soon enough, and too afraid to move away, all three outlaws slept close together, sprawled around the living room. Ever in need for physical closeness, Kori spent the better half of the evening brushing Jason’s thick raven hair back from his forehead, murmuring small words to herself in her native tongue. 

 

It wasn’t until Roy jolted awake in the dead of night that he’d realized he had fallen asleep. Wiping the sleep from his eyes he stood slowly, sighing as his back cracked up his spine. Roy makes his way to Jason’s side, noting that Kori must’ve slipped off to bed to get some real sleep. He takes her vacated seat and begins rubbing warmth back into Jason’s icy hands. Almost so lost in the simple action Roy failed to notice something. Because Jason’s hands weren’t just cold, they were stiff, frozen, dead weight. Slowly as the truth dawned on him Roy rose to him feet and stared down at Jason for a moment. Afraid to touch him or acknowledge his utterly still presence. 

 

Roy waits and waits and waits. His green eyes don’t leave the other man’s chest. He remains still, waiting, watching for movement, for his chest to raise like it always does. He waits, and waits through the silence. Jason remains still. 

 

“Jay?” The broken sound tumbles from the archer’s lips. He reaches down tentatively, warm fingers brushing across Jason’s achingly cold throat. Roy pauses for a pulse that doesn’t come. A hard ball of fear begins to lodge itself in the young man’s throat, making it hard to swallow. Both hands on the broken man’s throat now, desperately searching for a pulse that simply isn’t there. Roy’s knees weaken, drop him unforgivingly to the floor. They leave him to grasp at the young man on the makeshift cot. The red head’s breath catches in his throat and he hiccups a sob into the deadly silent air. Tears blur the image before him and he finds it increasingly hard to breathe. 

 

“Jay? Jason? Wake up man! Wake up Buddy! C’mon!” 

 

He’s begging now, voice thick with unshed tears, ears pounding with the steadfast beating of his panicked heart. He shakes the man before him, too roughly given his state but what does it matter now? He shakes him harder and when Jason remains frozen, he stops. Roy pulls his trembling hands away from Jason’s chest and ever so gently cradles the man’s gauze wrapped face as if it were the most precious thing in the entire world. The emotions consume him now, drowning him in their murky depths. He fights depersatly for air but none comes. In a rare moment of strength he gently brushes dark raven locks from the man’s cold forehead.

 

“Hey, hey Jaybird.” He swallows hard but it does nothing to tame the grief clutching to his throat.

 

“Everything’s fine- everything- it’s- it’s gonna be fine. We’re gonn- gonna be fine. So it’s ok- it’s okay.” The young archer falls apart again, still stroking the young bat’s unkempt hair from his sunken face.

 

“Roy? Roy what’s going on?” Kori’s voice asks from what seems like miles away. He can’t bring himself to tell her, can’t bring himself to speak.

 

“Roy! Roy!” She’s closer now more desperation in her voice.

 

Roy doesn’t know how to tell her, he doesn’t think his mouth can even form words. He doesn’t know what to think, or how to think it. His hands tremble and he doesn’t know how to stop that either. Oh god he doesn’t know what to tell anyone, how is he supposed to be okay after this? Roy doesn’t know how to be okay, somewhere deep in him he wants to give into his addiction, just shoot up and watch the pain melt away like candle wax. Candles, like the ones they light at churches, the ones they light for the people they loved who have died. Oh god Jason- Jason has died, he’s dead! Roy doesn’t understand, he - he doesn’t know what to do he doesn’t know how to breathe!

 

“ROY!”

 

Slick with sweat, trembling, gasping for air. Roy shoots up right. It’s morning, and beside him Jason still breathes. 

 

*******

*******

 

**Dick**

 

Dick is angry, furious even. He’s confused and anxious, but rage is all that seeps out into the open air. It’s warm out, not too warm but just warm enough. It’s a night Dick would usually savor, take the time to enjoy. But it’s not really a ‘take a breath and enjoy the nice weather’ kind of night. 

 

Today marks the 10th day since Dick has reached out to Roy about Littlewing. 10. Days. Dick’s a patient man… actually no, he’s not a patient man, especially when it comes to something like this and all of his emotions are so tied up in eachother he doesn’t know how to think straight. Climbing through the window of his apartment he all but runs straight into Tim, who had apparently been waiting for him. 

 

“Timmy, what’re you doing here?” Dick’s voice doesn’t sound like his own today. Tim looks up to meet his siblings eyes, and  heaves a sigh in response. Dick nods, no need to dispel the energy it would take to form words. They turn away from each other, the elder making his way to his room silently and closing the door. The younger, who’s dressed casually, takes a seat on the couch, sinking into its cushions and letting his eyes close. 

 

Back in his bedroom, Nightwing sits on his un-made bed, suit around his waist. His fingers, slightly pruned from a night in leather gloves, dig harshly into the sensitive skin of his scalp. He uses the pain to chase the tears away. He doesn’t want to cry, he’s too tired. So instead he stands, gets undressed, throws on some sweats and drags himself out of his room and onto his couch. The two of them share the silence for awhile, each lost somewhere within their own minds. 

 

“You know, the one thing that’s kept me from completely losing my mind is knowing that if he died Roy would have called us.” Tim’s voice, barely above a whisper cuts through the din. Dick doesn’t know how to respond to that, and when he doesn’t Tim opens his eyes and turns to face him.

 

“Roy would call us right?”

 

“Yeah Timmy, I’m sure Roy would call us if Jason was dead.”

 

“That doesn’t sound very sincere.”

 

“No, I mean it. Roy’s a good guy, he always has been. He loves Jason just as much as we do. If Jason had died, he would’ve called us.”

 

“Okay...Okay…” Tim heaves another sigh and drags a hand through his hair, disrupting his carefully tamed raven locks. His hand falls back to his lap and his hair is left sticking up in so many ways it reminds Dick of a hedgehog. 

 

“So then Jason must just still be sleeping… right?”

 

“I don’t know Tim”

 

“I mean at this point it would probably be considered a coma, but depending on how bad he was injured a coma might be a good thing. Y’know, help is body heal. But at the same time a coma is never a good thing. Right?”

 

“I don’t know Tim”

 

“Maybe I should call him, just- just to be sure. It couldn’t hurt right? To call him? Actually I’m pretty sure it could hurt, I don’t know. I mean if we bother him too much he might shut us out. Well maybe this time I can trace the call and then we could just show up. Well, no then we would definitely be causing problems. It’s just what if he never wakes up? I know i’d want to see him before hand. You know maybe I should just call him-”

 

Tim’s rambling continues and Dick manages to drift far enough away to where he can no longer hear it. He’s been trapped in the same cycle as his brother for the past 10 days, just instead of working it out out loud he stares at his phone for 3 hours and then falls asleep. Everyone has different methods of coping I guess. If you could even call it that. It seems more like insanity, bjut since when has anyone in their little ‘bat family’ been known to have healthy coping mechanisms. The thought almost makes him want to laugh before he remembers how miserable he is. He turns his head to look at Tim who’s still talking in circles at the ceiling. 

 

“Tim. You’re gonna drive yourself crazy, and before that you’re gonna drive me crazy.” Tim meets his gaze and hits his head back against the back of the couch.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“You don’t have to apologize Tim. I know how it feels. Trust me.”

 

“I just don’t get it, I mean he planned on not killing Penguin so why’d Bruce lose his fucking mind about it, I mean it’s not like he technically broke his promise. Penguin is still alive.” Tim throws his hands up in exasperation. 

 

“Wait hold on. What do you mean he never planned on killing the Penguin? He shot him in the fucking face!”

 

“Dick did you not watch the footage?”

 

“Of course I did! I watched it like twenty times! Jason says ‘I’ll let you in on a secret Cobblepot, I’m my father’s son’ and then he shoots him through the eye!” 

 

“No you’re not looking in the right spot Dick, after he says that whole ‘I’m my father’s son’ thing, which I assume is about Willis, he pulls back ever so slightly. If you map the trajectory of the bullet its non-fatal. I can only assume Jason did this on purpose.” Tim finishes and Dick nods slowly as he processes. In truth it makes sense to him, that Jason never intended to kill Cobblepot, after all if that was the case then Cobblepot would most definitely be dead right now. 

 

The two settle into a comfortable silence, both painting the ceiling tiles with their troubled thoughts. They remain that way for upwards of two hours before Tim once again breaks the silence.

 

“Have you talked to him yet? Bruce, I mean. Have you talked to Bruce?”

 

“No. I don’t have the energy to start a fight with him, especially one that will no doubt turn physical.”

 

“You think Bruce would get physical with you? According to Barbara he’s a fucking mess.”

 

“No Timmy you misunderstand. I’d be the one throwing punches.” They both allow a small laugh to emerge into the air and then dissipate. 

 

“Hey Dick?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“One day we’re all gonna be okay right? I mean eventually? This can’t last forever right?”

 

“I don’t know Tim. Maybe one day- I’m sure one day we will be. We should get some sleep.” Tim nods but neither of them move, and neither of them say another word as the sun eventually peaks it’s head over the horizon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally find it really funny that In the comics literally no one ever mentions what happened between Bruce and Jason and that is one of the reasons that I'm choosing to continue this story. So yeah here it is! I'm also really grateful for those of you who commented what you thought or left kudos it really means a lot guys so thank you. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll keep posting as I write the chapters so until next time,
> 
> MS


	3. Alone and Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, my bad. Well here it is now! No use dwelling on the past. Here is our first look into Jason's head, and the batboys are forming a plan! Exciting stuff! Enjoy!!

**Jason**

 

            Jason finds it hard to see, it’s bright and dark at the same time and he doesn’t quite understand how it could be. He stands in front of a rather large door, it’s ornate and splintered slightly, like someone had been clawing to get inside. He approaches it cautiously, hand outstretched to embrace the smooth wood grain. His calloused hands dance across the peeling paint. Eyes slightly closed he continues to explore the door’s intricate face, a slight frown draws his eyebrows together as he reaches the torn pieces, the pieces stained with desperation. The feeling of the rough wood jolts him slightly and he jerks his hand away as if he’d touched an open flame.

           

            Jason stumbles back, suddenly heaving for a breath in the static air. He glances at his hands bewildered, the door had felt so… sad. It had felt broken and tortured, he could feel the despair that had seeped to its core, it startled him. It was his own.

 

            “You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. You could stay here with me in-between.”

           

            Jason snaps his head to where the voice had come from, he finds the air empty.

 

            “I’m down here you ass.”

 

            Glancing down, Jason finds himself facing a young boy, his face hidden by dark raven hair. He’s a spindly child, small with sinewy muscles. The child is tiny, maybe 85 pounds soaking wet. Without seeing his face Jason knows who stands beside him, he heard it in his voice. When the small boy turns to look at him impatiently he finds himself staring into the fiery eyes of the late Jason Todd.

 

            The two hold each other's gaze for a minute or two before the boy’s attitude melts away and he turns his head back to his shoes. Under the baggy sweatshirt, Jason can see the child wears his robin uniform, still slightly too large in several places. A large sigh ripples through the small boy before he looks up at Jason again, who has turned his gaze back to the large door.

 

            “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here or what?” Jason asks, eyes boring into the decorative handle of the door.

 

            “Long story short,” The young robin begins, “last time we died we didn’t have a choice. It was chosen for us.” A small shiver runs down the boy’s spine.

 

            “But this,” the small bird continues, “this is your chance to choose. You probably don’t remember but you’ve been here before, when people were keeping you alive and you tried to get through that door. You wanted to stay. Now, if you really want to, you can.”

 

            Jason looks down at the boy in bewilderment. He got to choose? Why? It seems unfair, oddly frightening and daunting considering he practically chose every night he strapped on his pistols. He shakes his head slightly to clear his mind and takes a step forward. He doesn’t get much farther than that before a tiny hand grips his sleeve. Looking back at the boy he finds him bloody, hunched over himself and trembling with weakness. Jason’s mouth goes dry and he doesn’t know whether to embrace the boy or wrench free.

 

            “Wait! Please! Don’t go yet, you have to kill him! Please, c-can you please break the cycle, stop him! Stop him please!” the young boy pleads gripping Jason’s shirt tighter.

 

            It’s right in this moment that he realizes where he is, this isn’t heaven or hell or anywhere else but his own head. The same head he’s been trapped inside all these years but now he gets a chance to break free of it. Jason takes a deep breath and kneels to the tiny boy’s level. _Was I really this small?_ He thinks to himself.

 

            “He’s never going to die Jason. Not here, in my mind. He’ll always come back, unless we walk away, unless I walk away from you.”

 

The small eyes in front of him widen in fear. “But I’m just a kid! You can’t leave me here with him!”

 

“That’s what I used to think too. Just a kid. But things are different now. Kori, Roy. Artemis, Bizarro. When I was your age I never let anyone in, I always thought I could do it alone.”

 

“So, what are you saying? That this is my fault??”

 

“You came here by yourself, you never even gave yourself a chance. We died as we lived… Alone.” Jason stands and pry’s the small hands from his jacket.

 

The young boy nearly falls into himself without the support. “Y-you’re not gonna save me?” A cackle follows the child’s voice through the air causing them both to shiver. Jason turns his back and approaches the door. As he opens it he can hear the sickening **_KRACK_** of a crowbar hitting bone. The sound makes Jason jump and he swallows hard before answering the boy’s anguished screams.

 

“If I could have, God - I would have.”

 

Jason steps into the door and closes the stained wood behind him.

 

*******

*******

**Damian**

 

            Things have all but returned to normal back at the manor. Pennyworth has nearly returned to his former self, although Damian can feel the slight tension that is directed towards his Father. Father though, who has never handled anything particularly well, has returned to his normal pensive self. Sitting alone in his room Damian was left to confront his mind in the dark hours before patrol began.

 

            Damian, although loathe to admit it to even himself, is worried and oddly lonely. All of his so-called family members are gone with the wind and haven’t reached out to the manor since the night of the incident with Todd. They had all called the manor when it first happened, but after Father had reacted they had withdrawn and become silent. Damian didn’t really have a _family_ at the league, so this absence of his _brothers_ shouldn’t jar him. Yet… here he is wishing to know of their whereabouts.

 

            It was simply because each of them had, as embarrassing as it is for him to admit, assisted him and shown astonishing selflessness when faced with Damian in danger. He’s never known how to feel about something like that. It was foolish for one thing, to risk one’s self for another. But they all did it, and he would do it as well, without hesitation.

 

            It was at this realization that the longing for their presence grew. No, that’s absurd, he doesn’t miss them, assassins are solitary people. But, Damian isn’t an assassin anymore, no he’s part of the Bat-clan. Or the Bat-family as the news dubbed them. Neither a clan or family can be composed of a solitary member, no they had many members, and there was a strange bond of trust he felt with each of them, even with Drake.

 

            Damian was positive that Pennyworth had been contacted by his siblings, but he wasn’t talking. Pennyworth was one of the few people on this earth that he wholly respected and had no plan to pester him. There was no use getting Father involved, he seems to have accepted Todd’s disappearance as if he had died peacefully at an old age. He was oddly at peace with the whole ordeal, and it made Damian antsy. Father was the type of person to worry or fret about a situation until the point of madness, as he’s doing with his marriage being called off. But with Todd, someone Father usually kept tabs on, he seems to have written him off as… as what exactly it was hard to say. Finished? No longer his problem? Dead? It was all very perplexing.

 

            Whatever the case Damian felt it was his responsibility to assure the rest of their clan was well. If Father wasn’t going to do anything about it than he was, it’s just that simple. As Damian stood to begin packing for his journey he wondered how he should go about it. Should he merely sneak out without a trace, leaving the possibility of Father tracking him down? Should he confide in Pennyworth for help at the risk of the older man telling Father out of worry? Maybe he could tell Father he was going to the Kent’s, that would buy him some time before he discovered it was a lie. Either way he would need to be extremely cautious, Gotham didn’t call Father the greatest detective for nothing.

 

            Whichever decision he made he would have to be sure to leave behind no physical trail and follow no patterns. Although, a small part of Damian wanted Father to follow him to Todd and see for himself the destruction he has caused. He would need to buy himself some time then, he would go with telling Father that he was going to the Kent’s, and he’ll bring Pennyworth in on the plan as well, the man is a genius.

 

            Damian packed his bag well, leaving plenty of rooms for the snacks Pennyworth was sure to provide. He was sure to include several small weapons, his spare Robin uniform, a traceless burner phone Todd gave him years ago as a gag gift, several changes of clothes and a small wad of cash he had slowly been sneaking from Father for emergencies. Zipping up his backpack he slid the small phone into his pocket, recalling how Todd had remarked “When you become my ninja sidekick you’ll need this.” The thought almost made him smile.

 

            Down to the kitchen Damian found Pennyworth preparing their usual pre-patrol snack. Finely cutting cheese and apples and salami for a nutritious snack that Father would likely ignore. Damian walked to the counter and plopped himself on a stool. Leaning his elbows on the island he let out a long sigh.

 

            “Pennyworth.”

 

            “Master Damian. Is there something I can assist you with?”

 

            “Father is still in the cave yes?”

 

            “As he always is young sir. May I ask what is troubling you?”

 

            “I was wondering if I would be able to confide in you confidentially about something?”

 

That caught the older man’s attention. He straightened up, gently put down the knife he was using and offered up his complete attention.

 

“You may indeed. Whatever we discuss will stay strictly between us. Does this inquiry have to do with the packed bag you have hidden beneath your stool?”

 

Damian nods and shuffles his feet slightly beneath him.

 

“Pennyworth I wish to go and find Todd and the others.”

 

There is a small stretch of silence while Pennyworth narrows down exactly how to respond. There is no use for him to ask foolish questions like why, or when. He gives a small cough to clear his throat.

 

“As you know, I technically can’t encourage running away. Although I personally believe that you visiting with the other young sirs will do you all some good.”

 

“I concur. I plan to tell father that I have been invited to the Kent’s to stay for a while and that I will be skipping patrol tonight to miss traffic. Obviously, that is a blatant lie but will buy me some time before he comes to try and find me. If you would encourage him to let me skip patrol and drive me out of town I’m sure I can find my way to them from there.”

 

Pennyworth nods slowly, mulling it over. “Would you like me to inform Master Richard or your arrival?”

 

Damian takes a moment to think of any possible consequences that a simple phone call could bring to light. After careful consideration Damian nods.

 

“Well alright then young sir. I suppose I should wrap these up for your trip then”

 

Pennyworth carefully folds the food into wax paper then into a zip lock bag before placing it in front of the young boy.

 

“Now go disable the tracker in the Mercedes, I’ll inform Master Bruce of your leaving.”

 

Damian catches a slight smile on the old man’s face before he walks briskly away. Damian allows himself an easy sigh before packing up the food and jumping off of the stool to begin his work.

 

*******

*******

 

**Tim**

           

            They still haven't heard from Roy, and Tim is heading into “seriously concerned” territory. They keep moving to keep themselves busy, not staying at a particular safe house for more than a few days. Keeping low profiles and staying under the radar during patrol so as to keep from running into a particular condescending bat. Tim finds himself at the top of the fire escape outside of his window without remembering climbing up there. He frowns slightly before dismissing it as exhaustion and climbing through into his bedroom. Once inside he picks up the tail end of a phone conversation Dick is having in the kitchen.

 

“Does he know where we are? … Oh okay. And Bruce doesn’t know he’s coming? … Let’s hope that works then. … And he packed accordingly? … Okay good, we’re going to need his help once we run out of patience.”

 

Dick lets out a small, but genuine, chuckle. There’s more silence as the other end of the line responds.

 

“We will. I’ll update you as soon as he’s in my sights. …  Of course, we will!”

 

He laughs again, this time even brighter than before. Tim lets the sound warm the center of his chest.

 

“Yeah, I love you too, talk to you later. Bye.”

 

Tim sits on his bed and slowly begins to peel off the pieces of his Red Robin persona. While he goes through the motions he allows his mind to wander. He thinks of silly things really, like what makes the perfect fry, or what was the name of that one book he read one time that he liked? Then his mind circles back to Jason and he decides a wandering mind is a dangerous one.

 

Clad in sweatpants that are several sizes too big for him, Tim stumbles out of his bedroom. He finds Dick sprawled on the couch eating take out and channel surfing. Looking over his shoulder Dick lets out a bark of laughter, taking in the cuffs at the bottom of Tim’s pants where he’d rolled them up several times.

 

“Shut up _Dick_. The only spare clothes here are Jason’s size.”

 

That shuts them both up. The room fills with static as neither of them know how to respond. Dick clears his throat and goes back to channel surfing. Tim takes this as the moment passing and moves to join him on the couch. He was just reaching for a carton of egg rolls when the voice of Gotham’s usual late-night reporter cracks through the TV.

 

“The streets are still quiet from the showdown between one of Gotham’s former favorite vigilantes the Red Hood and the infamous tycoon known as the Penguin. Oswald Cobblepot was moved out of the ICU today. The big Gotham name was gunned down by the infamous outlaw Red Hood just over a week ago. Red Hood has been MIA since the attack, although the vigilante Batman has told the GCP to call off Red Hood’s bounty, stating that the threat has been neutralized. Oswald Cobblepot will make a full recovery, minus one eye, and will be out of the hospital soon. Once again Gotham City thanks Batman for his efforts in taking down the dangerous outlaw Red Hood. The Gotham populous is split on the disappearance of Red Hood, the upper-class families claiming they feel safer now that he has vanished and the lower-class families pleading for his safe return to them. Either way the streets are quiet tonight. This is Becky Narita with tonight’s news. Back to Peter with tomorrow’s forecast.”

 

Dick quickly clicks off the TV and both young men stare at its blank screen, mouths slightly agape, hungry for something to say, anything to say. The silence stretches longer than it should and yet both of them fail to speak up. It isn’t until Dick’s phone rings that the silence is broken. But neither of them reaches for it, they just continue to stare. _Threat has been neutralized._ What in the fuck is that even supposed to mean? Tim glances over at Dick, who has yet to move his eyes from the TV, and after a few weak attempts to get him to answer his phone, Tim just stretches across the couch and snags it for himself. He puts the phone up to his ear and is met with the sound of Alfred on the other line.

 

“Hello? Master Richard are you there?”

 

“Oh, hey Alfred. It’s Tim, Dick is… preoccupied at the moment.”

 

“I am simply calling to alert you that Master Damian’s plan went off without a hitch and we are now heading your way. He should arrive at your apartment in a matter of hours.”

 

Tim makes a mental note to ask Dick about that later.

 

“Um okay cool. We’ll be here.”

 

As Alfred responds Tim watches as Dick catches up to his thoughts and the rage starts to simmer off of him. He stands, whispering to himself about Bruce being an idiot, which Tim can’t dispute. Dick continues to pace, faster and faster.

 

“Master Timothy are you still there?” Alfred’s crisp voice snaps him from his stupor.

 

“Yes. Sorry Alf. One of us will call you when Damian gets here.

 

“Alright lad. I will talk to you soon.”

 

“Talk to you soon Alf. Love ya, bye.”

 

Tim ends the call and before he can make another move Dick snatches it from him, still mumbling to himself and pacing ever faster. Tim, realizing its best to leave him be, reaches for the egg rolls and curls himself into the couch.

 

“Demon Spawn is on his way, in case you were wondering.” Tim manages around a bite of egg roll. He swallows and before he takes another bite he adds,

 

“Oh, and Dick, don’t call him, it’ll just make you angrier.” Tim takes a bite and the pacing behind him stops for a second, like he’s contemplating what Tim said. There’s a scoff, and the pacing resumes.

 

“Shut up Tim.”

 

Tim shrugs and continues cramming egg rolls down his throat as Dick storms to the far bedroom and slams the door behind him. Whether you believe it or not, the man’s got a mean streak.

 

“At least bounce the signal so he can’t track us!” Tim calls over his shoulder. He’s met with no response and lets out a weary sigh.

 

“It’s just going to make things worse.” Tim says quietly to his remaining egg rolls.

 

“It always makes things worse.”

 

From the bedroom behind him he hears Dick nearly scream, “What in the hell is that matter with you?” before he grabs the remote and blasts the TV to block out the fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think will happen next? Who do you want to hear from? Let me know! I have a lot of stuff coming up so this next chapter may take awhile, but it will come! I promise I will got it done... eventually. But it will come. 
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> MS


	4. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone I am in fact alive. Life threw me the biggest curve ball and it was just really shitty for awhile. ANYWAYS, here I am and I have another chapter for you and I don't think it sucks but I'll let you guys be the judge of that.  
> Enjoy!

**Dick**

 

There is a man, silhouetted in red, desperately fighting against the weight of his presence. He trembles and folds, faceless to the floor, balanced on awkwardly twisted limbs. Ragged breaths bounce through the cloying scent of blood in the air. 

 

“Jason? Jay? Littlewing is that you?”

 

The man raises his head to meet Dick’s watery eyes. His face swollen and badly bruised, eyes burn red into the night and poppy colored tears leak a steady stream down the man’s neck. His mouth opens to speak and a wet choking sound clamors it’s way through the darkness. Dick runs, he wants to run, he pushes further and farther into the pitch black but the man doesn’t come closer, in fact he seems to be retreating into the emptiness beyond. 

 

“Jay! Wait!” 

 

Dick presses on but it seems as though he’s running in place. The man is losing strength, crumbling onto his elbows, retching blood onto the unforgiving floor beneath him. Dick, weak and trembling slows to catch his breath, the young man in front of him, no closer than he first was, gives another wet cough. Falling to his knees Dick reaches out his hands to the quivering body before him.

 

“Please?” he asks, quietly, sincerely. “Please.”

 

He stills, waiting for the boundary between them to disappear but the world remains unchanged. As the man collapses completely to the floor, sucking in raspy breath after raspy breath, a black hole opens in the spot where Dick’s diaphragm would be, taking the warmth from his chest. He is afraid, they both are. So afraid. 

 

Head bowed, shoulders shaking with the weight of the hollow breaths before him slowing each second, Dick wipes his face with his sleeve. Raising his head, he catches sight of a shadowy figure, draped in dark fabric, blending into the emptiness of the shadows. He grabs the broken man by the shirt collar and with a deep growl, strikes his face with a steel plated glove. 

 

Dick is on his feet, fighting the barrier that keeps him contained. He’s screaming, begging the darkness to release him. The figure strikes again, and again, and again. The man tries to block his face, tries so desperately to protect himself, but to no avail, the shadow is simply too powerful for him to defend against. The shadow cranks back his arm for one more blow and Dick is screaming so fiercely that a fire has been lit in his chest, burning away the soft tissue in his throat. The man raises his hands, wobbling with disorientation, he sputters a single word of plea. A  **_CRACK_ ** sounds as the arm comes down yet again. 

 

All is still and silent, the man hangs limply from the front of his shirt, Dick has been stunned into silence and the shadow has faded back into the darkness. The man falls towards the ground and suddenly Dick is there to catch him. He settles onto the ground, the young man, limp and slick with blood in his arms. Trembling hands push back the man’s blood matted hair from his face, and yes, just as he knew. Jason. 

 

The pressure is building in his chest now and Dick can feel the emotions growing, he can feel his throat tighten.

 

“Jay?” Dick breathes into the stale air.

 

Broken blue eyes open into the darkness, the color welcomed. They fixate on Dick in a way that someone so badly injured shouldn’t be able to manage.

 

“Dick. You’re here?” Jason manages through a bout of shivering. His eyes squint in confusion and pain. “You… you didn’t stop him. You let him hurt me. You weren’t here.”

 

“Jason, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry Jay! I didn’t know, I didn’t know he was going to hurt you!” Dick pleads. Jason’s face contorts in greiful doubt.

 

“Please, don’t lie to me. Don’t lie. You let him…  **kill** me.” Jason whispers into Dick’s chest.

 

“What? No, Jay he wouldn’t!” Dick pulls his brother closer to him, but he’s fading now, fading quickly. 

 

“Jason! No! Wait! Please don’t go!” Dick pulls him in even closer, holds him even tighter, but Jason has stilled in his arms and before Dick can even blink, Jason melts through his fingers like candle wax leaving him alone in the darkness. 

 

A phone rings out in the dead of night, disturbing the three resting birds nearby. Dick shoots straight up in bed gulping in lungfuls of the brisk evening air. Trembling and slick with sweat he snags the phone from his bedside table, trying to shake the empty feeling in the bottom of his chest. 

 

“Hello?” he coughs to clear the shakiness from his voice and tries again, “Hello?”

 

“Dick? It’s Roy. It’s Jason he’s.. He’s not getting any better. I think it’s time you come down and see him. Ya’know… just in case.” Uncertain and exhausted Roy huffs out the words in a long sigh. Dick feels himself shiver but tries to keep his composure. 

 

“Where are you? We’ll leave now.”

 

***

***

 

**Kori**

 

Kori sits, cross legged on the ground by Jason’s prone form. She has his hands enveloped in hers, warming them, rubbing the stiffness away from his joints. Behind her Roy paces steadily from room to room, one hand tangled in his hair, the other white knuckled around a burner cell held close to his pursed lips. She wants to say something, wants to soothe his troubled mind but she knows it’s futile. She’s noticed that humans have a habit of getting so weighed down by their emotions they begin to drown. She’s attempted to understand that part of them but so far hasn’t been able to grasp why they fight them so fiercely. A small line appears between Kori’s eyebrows as she ponders this, it isn’t until Roy comes to an abrupt stop behind her that she snaps out of her concentration.

 

“Do you think I did the right thing? Calling them, I mean, do you think that was a good call?” Roy asks shakily. She opens her mouth to respond but he’s already resumed his pacing, mumbling quiet things to himself about the last time he saw Dick Grayson. 

 

Roy had asked her if she was nervous about seeing him again after… well everything*. She simply reminded him that she is above petty human grudges and has absolutely no problem with seeing him again, or being trapped in a tiny apartment with him and her ever crumbling team. Nope. No problem at all. 

 

Kori releases Jason’s hands, tucking them once again beneath his blanket and stands, she asked Roy to prepare any available sleeping surfaces for the oncoming entourage of raven headed boys but of course the archer was far too tangled in his worries to do so. In her exhausted state she manages to throw down a few blankets on their remaining couches and chairs. With a heavy sigh, she tells herself that its enough. 

 

The boys will be here soon, Roy is occupied, Jason is stable and honestly she’s done her best. Kori decides it best to reward herself with a well deserved nap. Dragging herself off to bed she calls to Roy to wake her when Jason’s family arrives although she knows she’ll hear them before they even reach the door.

 

Kori dreams she’s trapped in a maze where a young man calls for her from somewhere she can’t reach. She flies through the dense hedges only to be met with more stubborn greenery. The man calls for her so desperately she finds it hard to tame her emotions. And that voice, she knows who it belongs to but it’s been so long since she’s heard it it seems almost foreign. But she runs for him anyway, heedless of danger, blind to risks. Vines reach for her as she searches for him cutting deep into her legs and face as she runs. The voice begins to fade rapidly and she picks up the pace in her panic. Clawing fruitlessly through a maze that leads nowhere. The voice continues to fade and she’s calling out for him, running, tripping through the darkness. When the walls push into her, and the ceiling begins to fall Kori screams for the young man, but he has gone silent without her.

 

Kori jolts awake to the sound of footsteps outside the front door, glancing around her she sees Roy has fallen asleep on the floor by Jason’s side. Signing inwardly Kori drags herself from the tangled sheets on the bed and stumbles her way to the door, somehow even more exhausted now than she was before her nap. She gives herself one more moment to breathe in the quiet before the opens the door. They all freeze when they see her, hair unkempt, eyes puffy with sleeplessness.

 

“Kori!” Dick’s eyes widen slightly in alarm. The other two stand perfectly still, glancing between each other, bags half draped over shoulders, shoes coming untied, their puffy eyes rivaling her own. She wants to say something, something maybe to break the ice between them, to show Dick and herself that it doesn't have to be this way, that they can be friends, or at least put their feelings aside for Jason’s sake. She takes in a deep breath to answer him, to say something meaningful, something to diffuse the tension. Instead, she steps aside and nearly whispers her reply.

 

“He’s inside.”

 

Without one more moment of hesitation, they grab their things and hurry inside. 

 

When Kori closes the door and steps inside to meet them, she finds them frozen again. They’re gathered around the couch where Jason lay, standing several feet away just staring at him, as if they don’t know what to do with what they’re seeing. Roy has come alive again and has joined in the staring. After a few minutes he turns to them somberly.

 

“I know.” Roy says quietly. He scrubs a hand across his face tiredly. “He’s been this way since the fight.”

 

Dick lets out a long breath and steps a few steps closer. He stills again, reaching out a hand as if to brush the hair from Jason’s forehead, it waivers there before Dick draws it up to his mouth and turns away. He brushes the hand through his deep raven hair and heaves another enormous sigh before excusing himself and walking out of the room. 

 

Damian, who has forever had such a strong sense of who his father truly is seems oddly shaken. Kori remembers the boy being full of fire, brash and confident to the point of rudeness. But the boy stands silently now, eyes traveling along the numerous casts and bandages that adorn Jason’s body. Then there’s Tim, his eyes slightly squinted as if he’s trying to repair the man in front of him. He slowly sets down his bags by his feet, and moves to sit at the edge of the couch. 

 

“His injuries?” Tim manages around the sleep in his throat. 

 

Roy moves to his feet and reaches to the table a few feet away, he grabs their ever dwindling supply of gauze and wrappings. He hands the box to Tim and pulls a chair over to join him by Jason.

 

“How about you see for yourself, it’s time to change his bandages anyway.”

 

Tim begins, hesitantly and slowly at first, meticulously peeling back the layers of wrappings, probing his various wounds.  Roys sits by quietly, answering any questions Tim has, filling in the blanks. Kori and him both know how much they need this, need the time to look him over themselves. Damian sits close by, pen in hand, writing down notes and any supplies they may need to restock. Kori smiles slightly at the sight.  _ If only he knew, if only Jason knew just how loved he really is. _

 

Quietly, so as not to disturb Tim’s concentration, Kori makes her way into the adjacent hallway. Dick Grayson sits against the wall on the floor. Knees pulled up to his chest, head braced in his hands, breaths coming slow and heavy. Kori moves beside him swiftly and joins him on the ground. Neither say anything as she settles herself next to him and together they sit for a while in silence. After all there’s nothing to say. Is there?

 

“I’m sorry” Dick whispers hoarsely into his hands.

 

Kori barely catches the words, and when she finally hears them she doesn’t know what to say. She wants to makes things better, right now in this moment with the two of them. But what is there to say? Is it really worth getting into right now in the dead of night? 

 

“Me too.” Kori answers tiredly, and before he has a chance to say something else she turns to face him. “Tell me about Jason when he was young?”

 

A sudden smile blooms on Dick’s face at the request. He looks up into the ceiling tiles, as if his memories lay there waiting in the plaster.

 

“He was this little street rat punk.” Dick laughs at the memory.

 

“So not much has changed then?” Kori responds. Dick lights up and they share a laugh, the weight lifting off of them in an instant.

 

“No really though, he was little. Like 4’6” and 90 pounds at 15. He was like a little spider monkey or something. This wiry little thing. He was as fast as lightning and could pick your pocket in an instant without you ever knowing.” Dick continues.

 

Kori’s eyes widen involuntarily. “I can’t imagine him ever being that small!”

 

“I’m just glad he finally grew into his attitude!”

 

They laugh again, a real laugh. A hunching over and throwing your head back kind of laugh. Dick regains his composure and goes on, telling her everything about Jason when he was little. How great he was in school, how quickly he took to Robin, and how much he loved being a part of a team.

 

Dick went on and on, and Kori listened to every word, and they stayed that way until morning. 

 

*******

*******

**Alfred**

 

The house has yet to quiet down again since Master Dick called a little over two days ago. The conversation seemed to relight the pit of rage in Master Bruce’s stomach and his dazed and almost peaceful expression he was wearing several days ago has vanished. Not to mention, the two missus, Barbara and Cassandra, have returned home and brought with them pandemonium. 

 

Alfred makes his way to the study, where the yelling seems to be coming from, bracing himself for what’s to come. Calmly he presses one hand against the stained oak door, the other balancing a tray of tea no one will drink, and pushes the door open as he steps into the fray. 

 

“Let me just ask what in the hell was going through your head?” Barbara starts, rising slightly out of her wheelchair in fury. Cassandra puts a gentle hand on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her. Cassandra who usually has an aura of calm about her stands tense, eyebrows knitted tightly atop her fiercely accusatory eyes. 

 

Bruce remains stoic in front of them. Alfred takes the small moment of silence to place the tray on the coffee table between the two parties. He stoops down preparing he cups as he remembers while they glare daggers at each other. Once the sugar has dissolved Alfred steps back and prepares himself for the blood that’s sure to flow.

 

“I don’t have to explain my actions to you two. I did what I saw as necessary.” Bruce responds, coldly, evenly, without so much as a waiver in his voice. 

 

“You really believe that don’t you? And what would you have done if he hadn’t had gotten away from you huh? You know what? Don’t answer that it’s probably just going to piss me off even more.” Barbara shakes her head in disgust. “Dammit Bruce. I thought you were better than…  _ them. _ I believed you when you said you were better!”

 

“What did you expect me to do Barbara?! He shot him point blank in cold blood!”

 

“I don’t know Bruce! But but I didn’t expect you to beat him half to death!”

 

The storm settles once again as they catch their breath. Cassandra, who has yet to move an inch releases a breath Alfred didn’t even know she was holding. Barbara brings a hand to the bridge of her nose and sighs deeply. 

 

“Bruce.” She drags her gaze up to meet his expressionless eyes. “Whatever idea you have about Jason in your head you need to put it aside. You lost him once, Bruce. Don’t make us lose him again because you were too careless to think before you punch.” 

 

“Barbara-”

 

“He’s a kid. He’s just past twenty! He’s a child and no matter how much you deny it, he’s yours to protect and love. He’s your  _ child  _ Bruce, and you’re his father. Fucking act like it.” 

 

Without giving him the chance to respond the two girls retreat from the room, closing the door tightly behind them. Master Bruce collapses into his chair running his hands through his carefully styled raven hair. 

 

“Damian’s not at Clark’s.” Bruce says quietly into his hands. “Is he?”

 

“No sir, he’s not.” Alfred responds, trying to keep his tone even.

 

“They went to find him. They went to find Jason didn’t they?” 

 

“Yes sir. They thought it best they see him in case he doesn’t wake.” Alfred responds calmly. It has the desired effect, Bruce jolts slightly and breaths out a heavy sigh of what Alfred knows is regret. Alfred sits, letting Bruce come to terms with the facts that, yes, he responded rather poorly to the situation he was given, and yes he’s in the wrong. 

 

Bruce drops his hands and when he does Alfred can see the facade has faded away. Once again he’s the man that brought Jason home many years ago and was afraid he wouldn’t fit in at school with the other kids. Once again Batman has faded away and Bruce Wayne has reappeared, he’s awoken to a reality he can’t believe he committed. 

 

“I’m such an idiot.” 

 

“...If you’re waiting for me to disagree with you Master Bruce, you’re in for a long night.”

 

Alfred allows the silence to seep through the manor as he collects the now cold tea cups from the table and walks out of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So I got this from RHATO's telling of Death of the Family with Joker. I know there's a lot of tea between Kori and Dick but like DC timelines?!?!?!?!?!
> 
> So... What'd you guys think? I have big plans for the next chapter and I have it all mapped out so I think it's going to be good and it should be done sooner rather than later but we'll see how it goes. 
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> MS


	5. When Death Comes Knocking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys so, here's the deal: I got the inspiration for this chapter (and next but more on that later) from the last episode of "The Haunting of Hill House" and the season 7 episode 10 "Death's Door" of Supernatural. Basically this is Jason's fight with death to get out his head and it's gong to be SOOOO long so I've decided to split it up so as not to overwhelm you and keep you waiting for another month. This is part one. Hopefully there will only be two parts. Anyway, enjoy!

**Jason**

 

Through the door Jason finds himself face to face with someone he hasn’t seen in more years than he cares to count. She stands relaxed before him, a feeling of slight agitation radiating from her, like she has somewhere else to be, or she’s tired of meeting Jason under these same circumstances. Her silverish hair flows as if in water to her knees, constantly moving and swirling around her. Dark and bottomless eyes seem to go on indefinitely, staring harshly before her in stark contrast to the greyish hue of her skin. Jason makes no further moves towards her, he’s learned its best to give her complete control of the space and situation until she offers it up to you. He stands his ground though, staring steadfast into those empty eyes.

 

Her lips raise slightly into a small and mischievous smirk before she saunters over to him, tracing the outline of a scar on his jaw from a night where Willis drank too much Brandy. He dares not move while she’s so close, it’d be like facing off with a tiger. So he stands perfectly still, merely following her movements with his eyes. Before he has a chance to react she’s planted a perfectly passionate kiss on his lips and withdrawn without another sound.

 

“Jason Todd.” She croons “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” 

 

Jason opens his mouth to speak but his lips are cold where she kissed them and the feeling radiates slowly into his head. He licks his lips and tries again. 

 

“Death. I didn’t plan on it either, yet, here we are.” He goes for ‘charming smile’ but it falls closer to pained grin than anything else. 

 

“You should consider yourself lucky.” She says sweetly.

 

Jason barks a laugh. “Lucky isn’t usually a word I use to describe myself.”

 

She gestures to the open expanse of empty space around her cooly. “Yet, here you are, with the option to chose.” She slinks closer to him, “That’s a chance a lot of people don’t get. The right to chose life, or death. So what will it be lover boy? Do you want to come away with me, or go back out there to the world that has forgotten you time and time again.”

 

“Is it just me or does it sound like you want me to stay?” Jason asks, the cocky confidence long since gone from his voice.

 

Death shrugs a bony shoulder. “I don’t have any particular preference, it would just save me the trip back for next time.” 

 

The casual comfort their conversation began with seems to suddenly vanish as Death’s smile falls from her face. She wants him to chose, she wants him to stay, his body it seems has already given up. It would be so easy, just take her hand and slip away into the soft and forgiving nothingness. But something tugs at him, a violent pain he can't seem to remember warns him that dying isn’t as peaceful as his mind would have him remember. He needs time to think, time to process, but he doesn’t have any. He doesn’t really get to chose, not unless his choice is the right one. 

 

His mind races a mile a minute and he can’t help thinking of those he lost, those he could maybe see again.  _ That’s how it’s supposed to work right?  _ Names begin to pour through his head and there is no damn to control their rapid succession. 

 

Mom. Bizzarro. Even his father, and… Artemis. How much he wants to see her again.

 

But what of those who wait for him out in the dark?

 

Dick. Tim. Kori. Roy. Barbara. Damian. Cass. Alfred. Stephanie. His Family.

 

...Bruce. 

 

He has so much left to do, so much left to say, things he needs to prove. No. He can’t stand idly by and waste the progress he’s made. Ignore those in Crime Alley that depend on him.

 

“I can’t stay. I need to go home.” Jason speaks up, fragmenting the long held silence between them. 

 

“You wish to go back to those who wronged you?” She asks, rather matter of factly.

 

Jason thinks about this.  _ Yes?  _ He thinks to himself.

 

“Yes.” He says. “I have too much left to do. Yes.” 

 

Jason meets her eyes, an odd emotion lay in wait in their depths, one Jason can’t formulate a name for. Something predatorial and lustful all the same. 

 

“We’ll see.” She whispers, then in the blink of an eye she’s vanished in a wisp of smoke. 

 

Jason closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, trying desperately to center himself in this topsy-turvy head of his. He’s nearly calmed himself down completely when someone speaks up behind him.

 

“Jason, honey I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting so long for you sweetheart.”

 

Jason’s heart stops, the breath catches in his throat.  _ No. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. _ But Jason can’t resist the possibility of her being here with him. The longing in his chest grows, the same longing that’s lived there for years and years, forever owning a small piece of him. 

 

“No. You’re not here, you can’t be.” His voice shakes and he doesn’t have the strength to fight to steady it. This is cruel, so deeply cruel he feels like he wants to cry. What a sick joke. He shakes his head and takes another quivering breath. 

 

“Honey, it’s okay. You’re here now with me.” The voice sings back at him.

 

Jason turns over his shoulder, to yell at the voice, to curse it for playing with the one thing he’d always wish for. But the words stick in his throat like tar and when he releases his breath a sob escapes. Because there she is.

 

“Mom?” Jason’s voice is unreliable now but he can’t bring himself to care. She’s here standing strong before him. Her eyes are clear and green like he remembers from when he was a child. Her legs are steady beneath her. Her arms free of track marks and bruises. Her skin is smooth and bright with radiance. She’s… smiling sweetly at him with pristine white teeth, improved immensely from the yellowed cracked smile she managed the years before her death. 

 

Tears begin to roll silently down his cheeks, getting caught in his dimples as he beams at her. She approaches him and wipes the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs as she cradles his face in her hands. He leans into the touch and gasps a breath, his eyes locked on her face. Her eyes roam around his face and body frowning slightly when she catches sight of a scar.

 

“Oh sweetheart. What happened to you?” She whispers. Jason doesn’t have the words to respond. Sensing his struggle, Catherine guides his head to her shoulder and holds fast, hugging him tightly and rocking him gently from side to side. Jason clings to her, his body shaking, tears pouring freely from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath.

 

“Oh Jay Jay, I’m so glad you’re finally here! You’ve been knocking for so long.” She pulls away from him and holds him at arm's length, giving herself another chance look him over. She suddenly lights up and gasps a little like she’d just remembered something.

 

“There are other people here who have been dying to see you!” She releases him and steps away. Jason involuntarily reaches out again for her as she moves out of reach, but he stops when a familiar sound reaches his ears. The sound akin to the shifting of pebbles, or the impatient tapping of  acrylic nails on a coffee table. Jason looks down only to be met with the sight of Sparky, his childhood dog, racing towards him.

 

Jason’s face breaks into a grin and he kneels to the floor, arms open wide to embrace the small dog. They collide and for at least a moment, Jason lets himself forget about everything that’s happened to him, the pain and betrayal and heartbreak. He just closes his eyes and laughs and lets Sparky lick his face and in all honesty he could probably stay this way forever. 

 

Picking up the wiggly dog in his arms - he didn’t remember Sparky ever being so small - he rises and makes his way after his mother. The room his small, brightly lit and besides the one he entered from there is only one other door. It sits in the far right corner of the room, barred and boarded shut. Almost as if by magic, a table appears in the center of the room. His mother sits at the head to the table, patting an empty seat to her left for Jason to sit. Just as he’s about to he catches sight of who sits across from him. 

 

“Artemis?” Jason asks cautiously. Her face wears usual fear and the sight stirs something deep in Jason’s chest. Fear. Doubt. Confusion. 

 

Artemis open her mouth to answer him but Catherine speaks up again from the head of the table.

 

“Jason you have so much to catch me up on, I can’t wait to hear all about what happened to you once I had gone.” She smiles sweetly at him and he doesn’t want to tell her. He doesn’t want her to know of all of the things she wasn’t there to protect him from. He doesn’t know what to say, or do. He turns back to look at Artemis, her face stern and fearful and the sight makes him feel so lost and afraid.

 

“Where are we?” Jason asks slowly. He doesn’t recognize the room at all. Jason steps away from the table slightly, suddenly unsure.

 

“Why, we’re home sweetheart.” Catherine coos gently. 

 

“Go.” Artemis says, suddenly, fearfully. Catherine looks at her confused. 

 

“Why would you want Jason to leave, he just got here! We’re going to drink lemonade and read all of the books your father wouldn’t let us read when you’re little. Come and sit.” Catherine gestures to the seat beside her.

 

“Don’t” Artemis says shortly. Jason’s mind feels like it’s trapped in a hamster ball, it spins around and around and he has to take a step back. 

 

“Jason, honey?” Catherine asks, concern lacing her voice. She stands and approaches him. Jason shakes his head. 

 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers.

 

“No don’t you apologize, you have nothing to be sorry about Jay Jay, you did your very best sweetheart.”

 

“No, I-I didn’t I did horrible things I- you don’t know the things I’ve done-” Jason starts.

 

“I forgive you my love, I forgive you. Come, and sit with us, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.” Catherine runs a hand across his cheek.

 

“No, Jason. Go, now.” Artemis says again, louder this time. And he understands, this is death, staying here in this sanctuary with his mother. He can’t stay.

 

“No, I have- I have to go, I don’t want to be here.” Jason trembles, the walls seem to be closing in on him and he’s finding it hard to breathe. 

 

“But you do my love, you’ve been knocking for years, louder and louder. You want to stay, you’ve wanted to stay for a long time. Please Jay Jay, Please.” Catherine moves closer to him, and he finds it so hard to resist her words. Maybe he does want to stay, maybe he should stay! Catherine is still talking at him faster and faster now, she’s moving closer, crying, reaching for him begging for him to stay. Artemis appears beside him and pulls him to the forgotten door in the adjacent corner. 

 

“Open it.” She demands, but it’s hard to hear her over Catherine’s wailing. Jason touches the door handle and as soon as he does so, his mother transforms into who she was. Her skin sags and becomes yellow, her eyes darken and her hair begins to fall to the ground in clumps. She’s coughing and crying and begging and it’s too much for jason to handle. Catherine begins to wither and without giving her another glance he closes his eyes, puts his shoulder into the rotted wood of the door and crashes through it.

 

*

*

Jason opens his eyes to a familiar hallway, one he had hoped he’d never have to see again. Artemis still stands strong beside him.

 

“What are you doing here? This is my childhood home, you’re not a part of these memories.” Jason asks her more harshly than intended. She steps back, shocked at the audacity of his tone.

 

“Well excuse me if I thought you could use the help!” She shoots back at him.

 

“Then by all means tell me what the fuck is going on?!” Jason shouts back, fear vibrating through his words. 

 

“What makes you think I know? I just knew you couldn’t possibly handle it alone so here I am.” She lets her arms fall to her sides in exasperation and they both heave an enormous sigh. Jason squats down and clasps his head in between his hands, Artemis watches on wearily, unsure of what to do or say. She’s never seen him in a state like this. Just as she’s about to speak up a low moan comes from outside of the open door at the end of the hall. Jason stands suddenly at the sound, and without pause races towards the noise.

 

“Jason! Wait! Where in the hell are we?” Artemis follows him cautiously, nearly tripping over several beer bottles that line the hall. Jason doesn’t seem to hear her, he bolts through the open door frame and leaps down the two porch steps behind it. Taking a hard left Jason sprints around the corner of the small house and when he stops Artemis nearly bumps into him. 

 

On the ground before him lays a motionless woman dressed in sweat soaked clothes several sizes too big for her. The alley reeks of human waste and vomit but Jason doesn’t even notice. He knows exactly what night this is.

 

“No no no no no no no no.” Jason rushes to the woman’s side, kneeling in a puddle of foaming vomit that still leaks slowly from the woman’s open mouth. The liquid soaks through Jason’s pants but he doesn’t seem to notice. He shakes the woman gently in his arms, brushes the bile matted hair from her blood shot eyes and holds her close. Whispering quiet reassurance to her Jason cradles the woman, red hair spilt like dried paint on the pavement. Artemis approaches him slowly, laying a hand on his trembling shoulder.

 

“Jason. C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” She gestures to the entrance to an apartment complex lobby in front of them. The next door. Jason refuses to move, the woman has stilled in his arms and he simply stares at her, almost through her. Tears makes track marks down his cheeks to the woman’s face below. Artemis shakes him slightly, the movement jars him enough to drag his glazed expression up to meet her piercing eyes. 

 

“Jason.” Artemis leans down in front of him and grips his shoulder hard enough that her knuckles turn white. Slowly, the fogges shock fades and the sobbing begins, the panic and the shaking and the bargaining. Artemis pulls the woman from his grasp and yanks Jason to his unsteady feet. Dragging him away she braces his shoulders with both hands. He’s not here, he’s there, a young boy helpless as he becomes completely alone, as the world darkens, as his last glimmer of light burns out. Artemis shakes him again, harder now, harder until he  _ sees  _ her, truly sees her. And when he does, the fear fades and he heaves a shaky sigh of relief.

 

“Artemis.” he breathes, the shaking not yet subsiding. She nods, smiles worriedly, and guides him away from the gangly corpse of the pavement. Pushing him in front of her, she glances behind her at the memory where a very young Jason Todd has taking his place, sobbing silently into the darkness of the alley.

 

*****

*****

 

Through the door Jason collapses and attempts to catch his breath. Artemis paces near by, piecing together what may possibly be an extremely stupid plan. Looking behind her she catches sight of Jason losing his damn mind sitting indian style with his head in his hands on the floor. He’s talking in circles to himself and takes one huge breath after another. 

 

“Jason, I think I know what we have to do.” She begins. “Hippolyta used to say something about how you have to go through the worst of it to get to the end. I think that’s what we have to do here too, you need to go through your worst to be able to get out.”

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Jason grumbles into his hands. He sits up and drags his hands across his eyes. Looking up into Artemis’ solemn expression he sighs.

 

“This is gonna suck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you guys think? You guys ready for the shit storm I have brewing in the next chapter, it's going to be very VERY dark so appropriate warnings will be issued at the start of the next chapter. 
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> MS


	6. Running, Running, Running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm alive. I had a CRAZY past two months and never had the time to work on this, but here is is, as promised. So this story went a little off the deep end and ended in a place a lot darker than I had ever anticipated. With that said I'm going to place these trigger warnings into effect: mentions of death, abuse and depiction of rape. If rape is a trigger for you skip the second to last chunk of the story and you'll be home free. Well, with all of that said I hope you enjoy!

**Jason**

 

            Drawn into the next room by the sound of laughter, Artemis follows Jason around the corner to a brightly lit and extremely familiar kitchen. Jason smiles deeply and watches as a different Artemis, a more carefree one, sits beside Bizarro impatiently. She throws her head back and yells behind her.

 

 “Jason, c’mon we’re hungry!”

 

“Red Him promise breakfast!” Bizarro adds, banging his fists onto the table playfully. 

 

 Without hesitation or a question on his lips Jason walks to the refrigerator shaking his head, muttering under his breath and begins to make breakfast. Artemis and Bizarro sit at the kitchen table and tease him as he attempts to crack eggs one-handedly. Jason laughs full-heartedly and hurls one of the eggs behind him at Artemis, who catches it easily. 

 

“That was such a Wonder Woman move Artemis.” Jason says over his shoulder, slightly star stuck. Artemis places the egg on the counter and crosses her arms.

 

“And you would know… how exactly?” She asks.

 

Jason starts slightly, as if caught staring at someone. “It’s nothing. She’s just always been my favorite superhero, that’s all.” He shrugs the question off and resumes whisking his eggs. Bizarro watches a spider craft its web in the corner above the fridge.

 

“You know I was Wonder Woman once. For a little bit.” Artemis says coolly.

 

Jason jolts, almost spilling the egg mixture onto the counter. “Wait. Really? When?”

 

Artemis smiles. “Just a small stretch in the 1980s. Where were you?” 

 

Jason lets out a small chuckle. “I was dead in the 80s.” The air is silent for a moment before they all burst out laughing. Jason looks back at them, a steady warmth radiating from his chest. Bizarro, who has no idea why they’re laughing in the first place, joins in anyway and nearly knocks Artemis off of her stool. He turns away to finish making breakfast when the laughing stops abruptly. Swinging around in a panic Jason is met with empty chairs and a silent kitchen. Artemis stands in the back of the room still watching him. He meets her solemn gaze with sad eyes, and she nods to the door to his left.

 

“I want to stay. I want to stay with them.” Jason’s voice dark against the bright lights of the memory.

 

“You said you wanted to go home, so I’m not going to let you stay here and fade away. I won’t. It’s why you brought me along- Jason… it’s time to go.” She approaches him, gentler than he remembers her being, and grabs his shoulders. 

 

“We’re leaving Jason.” 

 

Jason hangs his head and lets her drag him to the next door, one that shouldn’t belong in the real version of this room. Scrubbing a hand across his face he forces himself to be brave.

 

“Worst memory huh?” He asks her shakily. Artemis grimaces slightly, raising her shoulders into a shrug as if to say: _Hell, if I know, but it’s our best bet._

 

Opening the door for him, Artemis leads him through and closes it behind them. 

 

*******

 

It doesn’t take Jason long to know exactly where he is. The hot, dry stench of an oil-soaked warehouse and the smell of fresh blood is not one easily forgotten. Jason shakily drags himself onto his forearms and tries desperately to **focus**. The pain in his ribs sends his mind tumbling causing him to lose all sense of balance. Breathing as deeply as he dares, he directs his gaze upwards. His vision is blurry and keeps tilting from side to side as he tries to breathe. A glint of metal dances across his field of vision before- **KRACK-** pain erupts from his head, there is blood in his eyes. Red, all he sees is red. It hurts- **KRACK-** laughter, high pitched and hysterical and- pain, blinding, there’s darkness and he wants to flee to it. No, mom- Sheila is still in here somewhere. A cigarette left forgotten on the ground. Like him, burning away at itself.

 

He can’t think straight because everything is so- everything is just **pain** and red, there is red everywhere and- what is that? Red and sticky like strawberry syrup, like the syrup he eats on pancakes, like Alfred’s favorite flavor and no! Alfred will be so disappointed but- **KRACK** \- poppy colored splotches in his vision now, dancing around like someone being electrocuted or something, he’s seen that before, laughed. Bruce said he shouldn’t, but he was scared so he laughed. Bruce- he told him to stay but he- he told him to stay and he didn’t listen just like then. He’s left him to be punished because he’s let him down and parents punish with pain, but this pain is- **KRACK - KRACK** \- he’s on the ground, wheezing. Words, hysterical words, nonchalant and calloused meant sting or be clever fall towards him. They’re hazy and unrecognizable to Jason as he tries to- **breathe god dammit BREATHE -** a door closes. Laughter bouncing off cement. 

 

Sheila’s crying now and holy shit it just hurts **hurts HURTS-** _please please please make it **stop** hurting! _He’s crying, well tears are rolling down his cheeks because it just **HURTS** and he can’t make it stop- something, his arm his ribs his ankle his fucking skull is broken and he can’t see he can’t- he can’t hear it’s all too much. 

 

“Jason, we have to get out of here!” Shelia is crying, fear replacing bitterness and- she betrayed him she betrayed him- focus. **Focus.** The black spots around his vision are back and he can’t seem to untie her, it takes time- too long Jason it takes too long, but fire in his ribs and in the marrow of every bone. He’s slow and there’s an ocean in his head it’s loud and it hurts- everything just fucking **hurts**. _Tick tick._ There are hands on his shoulders, pulling him, pulling him somewhere. They’re warm and- did he really bleed that much? Dizziness comes now, but it’s welcome, he lets it close his eyes and- Sheila is screaming something and they aren’t leaving why aren’t they leaving? And Bruce- where is he? He promised- he promised he’d keep him safe and he’s not here. But Jason doesn’t blame him, no, no, this is Jason’s doing. But he’s sorry- he’s just so sorry and he doesn’t want to go please he wants to stay and be better he can be better please-

 

Boom. 

 

Darkness. Darkness and the smell of dirt and damp fabric. Jason chokes on the stale air as a jolt scurries its way through his spine. He gasps. Panic. Hands on wood, expensive fabric eaten away by time. The air grows thinner and he’s banging and screaming his throat rough with ash. What has happened to him? 

 

“Bruce!! BRUCE!!” Jason rasps. He coughs, swallows, tries again. He’s panicking trying desperately to slow the heartbeat that’s pounding along the back of his skull. He finds a belt buckle, puts it through the wood and tries to dig his way to whatever lay waiting for him outside of this prison, he digs, faster, harder, throwing the useless thing to the side and clawing with his bare hands. Fingernails ripped from their beds and flesh caught on wood. Splinters tears his hands to ribbons but still he digs on, gasping for air, breath hitching in a panicked sob, tears making trails through the grime on his face. The wood cracks open and his world chokes off in a landslide of mud and blood and tears. 

 

Air, fresh, damp, rainy Gotham air. He heaves, dragging his useless and broken body behind him as he swallows lungful after lungful. Falling onto his back he finds the stars. Jason begins to cry; his mouth calls for Bruce without his mind telling it to do so. Where is he? Why hasn’t he come for me?

 

“Jason!?” A voice, out of place in this moment runs to him. It’s Artemis, falling to her knees beside him and grasping his face in her hands. Her touch restores him, eases the pain, calms his racing heart and mind. She grounds him in a way that he desperately needed. She looks worriedly down at him, in awe of what he assumes she just witnessed. 

 

“Worst memory huh? Damn.” She says with a nervous laugh, wiping the mud from his eyes. Jason breathes a sigh of relief at her presence and lets himself smile. 

 

“Do you think it worked?” Jason asks, trying to keep the waiver out of his voice.

 

“Well, was that your worst memory?” Artemis asks.

 

“Yeah, by far.” Jason replies tiredly.

 

“Then I don’t see why not.” She says, looking around them for the next door. She spots it about fifty yards west and drags him to his feet. He’s shaky and sore and disoriented but he can walk, sort of, so they start moving.

 

It takes them longer than expected to get there, Jason is far weaker than either of them anticipated, in the end she’s nearly carrying him. When they finally reach the door, Artemis steps aside to let Jason open it and pass through on his own. Opening the door, the thought of never seeing her again strikes him in the chest like a sledgehammer. Looking back to her he finds the same confident woman he’ll always love, at least in one way or another. She smiles at him and waves him forward. 

 

“I’ll see you soon Artemis.” 

 

“Not too soon, okay?” 

 

They share a soft smile and he walks through the door.

 

*******

 

“C’mon Jay let’s find some seats before the old hags notice!” A larger, more calloused hand clamps down on his shoulder with a rare softness. Jason follows the man in excited confusion to a lucky pair of seats with a good view. He remembers this day, probably the best of his time with his parents. Looking over he finds Willis laughing. He’s sober, for once, and there’s no violence in his bloodshot eyes. Jason feels… Safe. 

 

But why? Why is he still here? He did what Artemis said, he went through the worst so why? He doesn’t- he can’t make sense of why he would end up here, at Hailey's circus. Jason’s so lost in thought it takes Willis bumping him with his elbow to snap him out of his concentration.

 

“Kiddo, check them out!” Willis points up into the air above them just as a young Dick Grayson flies by above them. Letting out an involuntary gasp Jason face breaks into an enormous smile. Of course, the day he saw Dick for the very first time. He was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

 

“Jason!” A hand grabs him suddenly from behind and he’s being dragged away. Away from Dad, away from Dick, away from the little awe filled street rat that doesn’t even get close to taking up the space next to his father. Artemis drags him outside of the tent and turns to face him. 

 

“Artemis! What the hell is going on? Why didn’t it work?” Jason asks, his confusion causing his words to tumble over each other. 

 

“I don’t know, it should have-” Artemis begins when the world around them suddenly freezes. One by one the crowd disappears leaving the two of them in an empty big top and Jason to watch as his father and adopted brother fade away in front of him. A pang of… what? Guilt? Loss? Greif? Remorse? Whatever it is strikes his chest hard enough to leave him breathless. 

 

“Jason. I’m growing tired of this.” A familiar voice wafts through the empty tent, slivering up Jason’s spine. He shivers, despite the balmy air. A dark mist accumulates into Death’s from, and saunters closer to them. Long gone the seductive way she carried herself earlier now replaced with impatience and rage. Jason feels his hands go cold. 

 

Then they’re running, running through the now empty field outside of the tent, sprinting to an old shed that sits abandoned by the road. 

 

“Try and think Jason, think of something you’d never want to face again, somewhere she won’t think to look for you.” Artemis pants as they run. But Jason’s mind is on fire and nothing seems to connect. Death advances steadily after them, smoke tendrils reaching out like ink in water at their ankles. Throwing open the rusted door, the bright light beyond pushes her away just enough for them to run through and slam the door behind them. 

 

*******

 

Jason finds himself in a dimly lit apartment that causes his stomach to twist on sight. A young Jason tugs on his unconscious mother while what sounds to be a group of men pound on the front door. Jason feels the sweat roll down his back, he swallows hard.

 

“This isn’t it.” Jason says, his voice a mere whisper. Artemis leans in to catch his shaky words.

 

“Are you sure? This looks pretty-” She begins.

 

“This is every other night with my Mom, it’s nothing special.” He snaps, turning on his heel and walking through the next door he sees.

 

*******

 

“C’mon chum, take a break from your homework, Alfred’s served dinner.” Bruce holds out his hand and Jason takes it without hesitation, Bruce pulls him to his feet and places his palm on the spot between Jason’s shoulder blades. It’s warm and the warmth travels out to his hands and feet and settles in his cheeks and he grins.

 

“I got an A on my chemistry test today.” Jason finds himself saying. Bruce smiles down at him and pats his back. 

 

“Well done Jay-lad, I’m proud of you.” 

 

Jason freezes. The spot on his back goes cold as Bruce continues with a smaller Jason down the hall. Images flash across Jason’s vision, a rooftop slick with rain, a man clad in shadowy fabric, pain, blood, failure. 

 

_I was a fool for **ever** believing in you._

 

His blood runs white hot through his cheeks. No! He will not stand by and let him believe that he’s right, that Jason is broken, or anything less than the man he’s supposed to be. 

 

“Bruce.” Jason calls down the hall for him. He looks back, the young boy still in his grasp. He smiles, a real warm one that Jason hasn’t seen in years.

 

“My heaven was here!” he gestures to the manor around him. “It was here! But I’m not the same little boy you found on the street that day. And I’m not sorry for who I’ve become Bruce. Because this... is who I am.” Jason drops his hands to his sides and heaves a sigh. Bruce looks between the two Jason’s and smiles solemnly. 

 

“Jason, you’re my son and I love you. Whatever I’ve done to you, I want you to know that I am sorry I ever caused you any pain Jay-lad.” Bruce approaches him slowly and reaches out for him. Jason flinches away reflexively, causing Bruce pause before he closes the space between them and places his hand on the back of Jason’s neck and just holds him there. 

 

A part of Jason knows that this version of Bruce is just a fragmentation of his messed-up mind and what he’s saying to him isn’t real. But damn is it nice to hear. 

 

“Jason. It’s time to go. She’s coming.” Says Artemis from behind him. Bruce releases his hold and steps away. Casting one last smile over his shoulder he and the young Jason walk down the hall and disappear.

 

“Are you ready?” Artemis asks as she opens the next door.

 

“Does it really matter?” Jason asks.

 

“I suppose not.” Artemis replies as they step through the doorway. 

 

*******

 

The smell of mildew-soaked plaster is the first thing Jason registers and he knows, just from the smell alone, that this is where he’ll find his freedom. The scent of vomit and sweat and burnt out cigarettes mingle into a haze that could bring tears to your eyes. But for Jason, this was home. 

 

Catherine is out cold on the rotting carpeted floor as a seven-year-old Jason does what he can to fit both himself and his mother into the open closet nearby. Hoping to hide, to disappear, to vanish and never return. The banging on the door grows ever louder and Jason knows that the rot infested door won’t hold them for long. Sweat rolls down the back of his neck, he swallows hard. Artemis looks at him knowingly. She knew the minute she saw it that this night, something was different. 

 

They watch on and the young boy pulls with all of his strength, his sinewy and malnourished muscles twitching and trembling under the strain. He was so small. He was just so small. With a crash the door gives in to the pressure and crumbles from its hinges. The young boy starts, freezing, fearful and unsure of what to do. Jason looks on with solemn fear and regret.

 

The three burly men stop in front of the boy, now standing protectively in front of his mother. They laugh, they flick their cigarette butts at him in amazement. The boy stands strong before them.

 

“Well, well, well. Looky here gents, we got ourselves a little man of the house.” Laughs the short and greasy one on the left. He was wrong though; Willis was still around these days he was just out… out working Jason supposes. Although the fat bald man would’ve been correct six months later. The men shuffle forward causing Jason’s breath to hitch in his throat. If he could’ve just been strong enough, big enough, fast enough. If he could’ve just kept them safe. If he could only spare them both.

 

“Move aside little man, Mommy’s got a debt to pay. Mommy hasn’t paid for her medicine for a long time and the bill has come due.” A taller and bigger man on the right says, reaching forward to push the young boy away. The boy recoils but stands firm, causing the big men to laugh. 

 

“Get out of the way kid, before I hit you out of the way.” Says the man in the middle. He’s different than the other two, heavily scarred and his chin length hair almost covers the seven piercings adorning his ears. There’s a look in his eyes through, a hunger, a vicious bloodlust that makes his laugh send chills through the air. The young boy is afraid.

 

When the boy doesn't move, and large hand strikes him across the face before he’s kicked into the nearby wall. Army green wallpaper peeling like sunburnt skin in the summer. The men step over the trembling boy and advance on Catherine, who still lay on her side, dead to the world or danger around her. From this angle Jason can just see her protruding belly, an unnoticed baby sister to be born stillborn into Jason’s arms seven months later. 

 

The men look around the small apartment, knocking over or breaking what they can. When they only come up with seventeen dollars the men become angry. The short one suddenly looks down at Catherine, lying prone in her unwashed pajamas, and exposes his yellow and cracked teeth in a grin. 

 

“Looks like we’ll have to find some other form of payment boys.” He says, the lust dripping from his words like blood from a blade. The boy has regained his hold on reality and now sits, like he always does when scary men come to the apartment, hiding behind a self with his hands planted firmly over his ears. A bright wheel has already begun to form on his cheek and his now dried tears make a line through the grime on his face. From his hiding place he watches the men approach his mother with hunger in their eyes, and kneel down to her, harshly grabbing at her and tearing her clothing. The boy releases his hands and stands suddenly. The men are touching Catherine with hungry fingers, hands fumbling with their zippers. They touch her, kiss her, lick her and fondle her prone and naked body. 

 

Jason finds he’s clamped a hand so firmly over his mouth he feels his fingernails digging harshly into his cheek. He doesn’t care. He’s frozen. Helpless. Useless. The young boy steps forward in a moment of bravery and Jason wants nothing else but to push him back down, to cover his eyes and ears and wait until the big men have left and they’re safe again. But somethings never change, do they?

 

“Stop! Get away from my Mom! Stop it! Stop!” The young boy screams. He’s mostly ignored, except by the man with the scarred face. He freezes and turns to the boy with a smile. The young boy steps back, fear pumps through his tiny body, but before he can run the man is upon him. All he can try to do is fight back, scream through the sweaty hand placed over his mouth, kick and punch and squirm with all of his might. The man smells like smoke and sweat and stale breath. The breath tickles the boy’s neck and he’s fighting so hard but he’s just not strong enough to win. There are hands touching- touching him all over and grabbing, squeezing, bruising and the boy just wants to be let go and left alone. There’s ripping and yanking and pulling and burning. 

 

Blood pooled to the floor like a forgotten scarf.

 

“Get away from him!” Jason roars, the sound echoing off of the crumbling plaster walls. The man does not stop, nor does he seem to have heard him at all. Jason runs, trembling and slick with sweat to beat the man, to beat him into the ground. But he is untouchable. And Jason, just like before, is helpless to do anything at all.

 

Jason is gasping for air now, every ounce of strength that has ever lived within him is gone, and he crumbles to the floor to watch through watery vision. To watch with helpless horror. Artemis is speechless now as well, a dark pit opened up in her stomach. She doesn’t know what to do, neither of them does. So, they sit, helpless, hands white knuckled around each other's fists. Broken.

 

It isn’t long until the men become bored, no longer satisfied and they beat the small naked boy on the rotting carpet. They leave and the house is silent again. The young boy lay on his side, sticky and slick with blood and tears. He **hurts,** a part of him is broken and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s cold, he’s afraid. He cries into the dark and quiet apartment. No one is there to hear him. Catherine, who has still not woken, lay filthy and used on the floor. They are both broken now, the boy supposes. He eventually makes his way to his feet and then stands, useless and confused. He’s naked and bleeding and he thinks a few of his ribs are broken and all he wants is to be held. 

 

But there is no one to hold him. 

 

Jason watches the boy with a glazed expression. Slowly as if approaching a wounded animal, Artemis shakes his shoulder until his eyes clear and the tears come again. Jason stands shakily and pulls off his jacket. Approaching the small boy slowly he reaches out to touch him, expecting him to melt through his fingers. But he’s here and real. uncertainly he wraps his jacket around the young boy who looks up to him and sees him, truly sees him. The boy’s breath hitches and before he can hit the ground, Jason is holding the young boy- himself, bloody and broken in his arms. They rock together before Jason begins to whisper small things to them both, things he’s never been able to say before.

 

“It’s not your fault.” he says. 

 

“You did your best to protect her.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You’ll be okay.” 

 

“They can’t hurt us anymore.”

 

And finally, “I forgive you.” 

 

The boy melts through his arms like sand and Jason is left alone. His mind wanders to that day, what happened after the men left the house. How he dragged his mother to the bathroom and bathed her the best he could. He dressed her in clean clothes and but her in bed, hoping that when she woke, she would never know what had happened to them both. Then Jason took the longest shower he had ever had and tried desperately to scrub the man from his skin.

 

Willis returned as Jason was getting into bed and proved his last remaining moment of goodness as he tended to Jason’s injuries and held him before his anger drove him back to the streets. But this wouldn’t be the last time Jason would be forced to pay this way. 

 

Jason looks down at his hands and in front of him, the front door opens. A gentle yellow light pools from it and Jason knows somewhere in his mind that this, that finally facing this after all of these years, was what he needed to get back home. But just as suddenly as it came, his will and strength left him, and he digs his fingers into his head and screams. The walls tremble and every horrible thing that Jason has faced comes flooding back to him in one title wave that leaves him drowning. He can’t go back; he can’t go back and live with his broken piece of himself anymore. Whatever broke released a cold darkness that sits in his chest and makes him shiver. He just wants warmth. He just wants to be warm!

 

Jason screams again, one that trembles and writes on the molding plaster with his agony and he’s gripping his head so hard it’s like he’s trying to crush his skull. 

 

_Why?_ Jason wonders into the yellow glow that reaches for him. 

 

_Why this night?_

 

Artemis is beside him, hoisting him up by the arms to his feet. But Jason doesn’t want to go anymore, he wants to stay here, with Artemis forever. But- but that light gets closer every second and he knows that he’s made a mistake but now- now he can’t do anything. Jason pulls Artemis in for one last kiss, lets her wipe the tears from his cheeks. He’s holding onto her so tightly, breathing in the soft smell of her hair but she’s fading away now as the light advances. Jason screams, he screams out every bit of **hurt** and **fucked up past** into the yellow light. He curses it for his softness and for pulling back the curtain on a night he’d left hidden for **so long**. Jason cradles Artemis’ head next to his own and holds her close one last time before they are swallowed by the soft, yellow light.

 

*******

 

Jason wakes and opens the eye that isn’t swollen shut, but before the pain comes there is still that same cold and empty brokenness inside of his chest. Tears well up in his eyes and his breath quickens. The cold spreads and Jason finds himself broken. Anger and grief and resentment and oh god! Pain, there is so much pain- always pain and why did he come back here? He could’ve stayed- should’ve stayed! Artemis is gone and he’s stuck here, alive in his broken body with his broken mind in his broken family. Words bang around on the inside of his head, and he’s dizzy, achy. He wants to go to sleep he wants to die! He was wrong! Please he’s changed his mind! 

 

_Take me back! Take me back! Please!_ He yells in his head. 

 

Silence always silence. So, Jason screams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed, leave me a comment if you feel inclined to do so. I'll be back with the next chapter... eventually so stay tuned for that. Until next time,
> 
>  
> 
> MS


	7. Cold Nights and Warm Sunrises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I am back again with yet another installment because there is still so much left to be written. Sorry for the wait and for the weight of this chapter, it's nothing like how dark the last one was but I mean it's still pretty dark. Anyway, enjoy!

**Tim**

 

It’s the middle of the night when the screaming begins. Sudden and frantic like a cornered animal. Tim’s heart leaps so fast and suddenly he’s sure it struck his collar bone. A hand, his own, flies up to quiet the deafening pounding in his chest. Lights are flipped on and Dick and Kori rush to Jason so quickly it takes Tim’s brain a second to register what had happened. In the confusion Tim finds himself grasping a trembling Damian by the shoulders as they watch the chaos unfold. The two of them static in a room full of blinding movement. Jason, who has yet to even open his eyes, thrashes. His mouth wretched agape in an agonized wail, he twists and turns, fighting the hands that reach down to restrain him. Blood begins to pool out from underneath his bandages and Tim rushes forward to help. 

“Someone sedate him! He’s ripping all of his stitches!” Dick yells over the noise.

“No!” Tim yells back, throwing his torso over Jason’s legs in a vain attempt to still him. “His body can’t handle anything else in his system! He just woke up, it’s too risky!” 

“Then someone needs to do something!” Damian yells frantically, snatching the first aid kit from the adjacent counter and tossing it to Dick.

Kori reaches up and places her hands ever so gently on the sides of Jason’s face and leans in as close as his frantic movements allow. At her touch Jason jolts slightly, he goes rigid and a violent shudder forces its way up his spine.

“Jason.” She says calmly but sternly to him, hands radiating a steady warmth into his temples. “Listen to my voice, you know me. You know you’re safe. We aren’t going to hurt you, but you need to be still.” 

Jason’s jaw snaps shut, and he screams behind bloodied teeth. Tim turns his head around sharply looking for help. He knows that he expects to see Bruce beside him, ready to take over, to get the situation under control. _To make it all stop, to take the fear away._ But no, Bruce isn’t coming, and Tim knows that for sure now.

Roy sits with his back against the wall heading off a break down, a mess of fiery hair just visible through trembling fingers. The small apartment seems to shake with noise and Tim is having a hard time staying grounded.

“Jaybird we’re here, okay? Me and Timmy and Damian and your team. We’re all here and you’re safe so you need to stop moving before you hurt yourself more!” Dick says as he uses his forearm to pin down Jason’s torso. Suddenly as if waking from a dream, Jason’s eyes fly open and he grabs Dick harshly by the shirt, pulling him to him with more strength than Tim can believe he can muster. A steady stream begins to leak from his eyes as he stares into Dicks gaze so intensely. Hurt and betrayal clinging to his tears as they roll steady down his swollen face. 

“You should’ve let him kill me.” Jason rasps so quietly Tim is sure he’s heard him wrong until he sees the look on Dick’s face and Jason falls back onto the couch, unconscious. 

The room settles into a sudden and uncomfortable silence. Tim finds himself pressing his ear to Jason’s battered chest and doesn’t release his breath until he hears the unsteady drum of Jason’s heart. Falling back onto his knees, Tim scrubs a hand across his face and glances down at his wrist. The clock reads: 4:38 am. Tim casts his gaze around the room, reading the startled yet blank expressions that meet him with eyes hungry for answers. None are forthcoming. They tend to his ripped stitches. Tim lifts Jason’s now blood-soaked t-shirt from his torso and an electric current freezes his hand in place. Bile climbs its way up Tim’s throat, burning the delicate tissue that lives there. Deep purple and red vines stretch across his torso, tendrils reaching beneath his skin like ink in murky water.

“Shit.” Tim curses under his breath. A headache pierces into his left temple and he flinches.

“What?” questions Kori from beside him. Although when he shows them no explanation is needed.

“For fuck’s sake.” Dick breathes as he collapses back onto the floor. There’s nothing to do about it or tell if the bleeding is anything serious. A kidney or his spleen or even his lung or heart, there’s no way to tell for sure without an ultrasound. So, they can just wait, wait for it to either worsen or for it to dissipate. Tim hates waiting.

Suddenly Roy stands and staggers shakily out of the apartment, Dick is fast to follow. When Tim looks over to Kori questioningly, she answers him simply. “Relapse.” Tim nods and settles back into the armchair he had previously been sleeping in. Even with the jackhammer pounding in his skull and the bass drum in his chest, he’s asleep in minutes.

Several hours later Tim wakes from a dream where he stood by a casket, and one by one his family and friends around him climbed inside and left him alone in the rain. Once he was alone the casket latched and a horrible whimpering crept out from within. The sound grew and grew until Tim was forced into wakefulness. Out of breath, he brings a trembling hand to his sweaty temple and presses down hard. Then, the sound, the whimpering continues from his left and grows ever more agitated with each breath. For a second Tim thinks he’s losing it, he pushes harder into his temple and when the sound continues, he sits up and looks around sharply.

Tim squints against the bright morning sun and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust. Looking around the room is still, the others still sleeping soundly and Dick and Roy still have yet to return. So where is that noise coming from? His brain trips over itself to catch up to his reptilian response and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that the sound is coming from Jason.

Cautiously stepping closer he finds that Jason stares unseeing and unblinking into the tiles above his head while his fists, taught with rage, slam down onto the couch with enough force to make Jason whimper with each blow. Tim instinctively lunges forward to grab his wrists, to stop it- stop it- **stop it**. He grabs Jason’s wrists in a harsh panic, Jason flinches so hard in response that his face scrunches up in silent agony for several seconds.

Guilt, untampered guilt spills into his hands and cheeks, turning them red. Tim pulls his hands away so suddenly that his balance waivers and he nearly tips over.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry.” Tim whispers frantically as his fingers hover over Jason’s body, a sudden tremor tickles through them in confused anticipation. When Jason doesn’t relax Tim tentatively lowers his hands down, one on Jason’s wrist and the other on his heavily bandaged shoulder. The touch makes Jason jump again, enough to cause his eyes to fly open in sudden alarm. His watery gaze meets Tim’s with such intensity that his tongue goes dry in his mouth. Never in his like has he seen someone look so broken, and desperate, never has he seen someone beg so fiercely in silence. 

Tim quietly coughs the emotion from his throat before speaking. “Hey, it’s okay Jason, It’s just me. You’re safe now, remember?” Tim rubs his thumbs in soothing circles but something about his words frustrates Jason all over again. Tears begin to leak a steady stream down the sides of his face as he grimaces back up to the ceiling, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. 

“What hurts? Wh-what do you need?” Tim asks, desperate to _fix_ the broken man in front of him. But he knows before Jason’s sharp shake of his head that it’s something on the inside that’s causing damage, something Tim can’t get to. Tim’s blood seems to freeze in his veins and he’s so tired and frustrated with how often he finds someone he loves in this position that it’s desperation and not anger that compels him to grab Jason’s face in both hands and force them to meet eyes again. 

“You are going to be okay.” Tim says steadily, trying to hide the tremor in his words. He looks deep within the watery depths of Jason’s eyes. _Let me convince you, let me convince us both._ He thinks to himself.

“You may be a little broken right now, but we are all here to help put you back together, and we aren’t going anywhere. Okay?” Tim can feel the words tug at a memory, something that Jason had said to Damian in passing one day after he came back. Something he whispered to the boy when the nightmares became too much.  _ You won’t be broken forever, and I’m here until you’re not. _

Jason shakes his head in such a small way it makes Tim’s hands tremble. Tim releases his face and his head falls back to the pillow; and when he opens his mouth to speak a hollow sob escapes instead. Tim finds himself lost, dizzy in the… hopelessness. An icy cold feeling stabs through his chest and freezes him from the inside out. But this time when Tim reaches out, Jason does not recoil. He instead clutches his arm so tightly his knuckles turn white and the scabs that occupy them burst and leak crimson streams down his hands. 

Tim does not dare wretch his arm free, because he knows, somewhere in that big brain of his that he is the only thing keeping Jason anchored to the stark reality around him. So, he sits, holding fast and he keeps watch as Jason fights with whatever is going on inside his head. 

Together, they hold on as Jason cries out silently to the rising sun. 

 

*******

 

**Cass**

Gotham sleeps, a giant slumbering beneath a weighty blanket of fog and dread. Cassandra perches atop Wayne tower, the name burning something new into the calloused skin on her hands.

_Regret._

__

Thick and palpable, swimming through the air like hidden dragon, breathing its musty breath down on her neck. She shivers slightly, feeling the weight. It’s wrong, it’s all wrong. Cassandra squints into the darkness trying desperately to manifest a physical answer before her. She thought she understood everything so completely, she thought she knew Bruce for who he was- who Batman was!

She shakes her head and her headache rattles around when she does so. She just doesn’t understand. Well, she knows where the anger comes from, the disappointment and frustration distorted by grief and confusion. But this level of violence, towards Jason, nonetheless. The headache flares up and Cass rubs her temple slowly. He’s the broken one, fragile, even more so than herself. Constantly trapped between who he is and who he used to be.

But the thought that makes her heart tremble is that she knows Jason no longer belongs here, and that Bruce will never stop mourning the son he lost at the expense of the one who returned. It makes her angry and she turns and puts a dent in the vents beside her head. Why must bad things happen?

Her com crackles to like and she puts her hand up to her ear.

“Cass, I just heard from Tim. Jason is awake but… well-” Barbara swallows hard, searching for the correct words. Cass can feel the anxiety through the silence, and it slivers its way into the cold spot in her chest.

“Well he’s not okay.” Barbara continues. Cassandra expected as much, she’s watched the cowl recording, she watched his not even lift a finger to Bruce. She could read that he was broken long before the others pieced it together. It hurt to watch; it shook the stronghold she stands on to watch something- to watch the symbol she believes in cause so much harm. Unjustified harm.

“According to Tim it’s way worse than we expected.” Barbara finishes with a sigh. That causes Cassandra pause. Worse? How much worse.

“Go.” Cass says sternly. “We go.” The wind whips over the crest of the rooftop and blows her hair back away from her face. The stars struggle to shine past the pollution the city demands. The stars remind her of Jason.

“I was thinking the same thing.” Barbara responds, and the coms go quiet. Stepping to the ledge, Cassandra lets the wind chill her skin, she lets her face tingle and relish in the cold. Things must change, they have to. We can’t waste time fighting each other when there is so much evil and wrong in the world that needs their attention.

The bat symbol on her chest burns with distrust and she places her hands over it to smother the flame. She just doesn’t trust the bat, and that truth feels like ice beneath her skin. Bruce let them all down that night.

 

A memory surfaces from the achy dystopia of her thoughts and she relishes in the sweetness of it. It was Jason’s 18th birthday, a night like this. It was long before they knew he had returned, twisted and angry and afraid. Bruce took her to his grave before patrol that night, as a lesson of sorts, a warning. It was the first time she’d ever really heard of him before other than the occasional memory from Dick or Bruce or even Barbara. But that night she learned a lot about Jason Todd. His love of cars and books and Neapolitan ice cream. Bruce spoke so warmly about him then. The cold wind steals the warmth of the memory away. A lot has changed since then.

Cassandra stands alone, shivering into the dark. Stoically she holds herself there until the sun takes the cold away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm planning to write with Roy and maybe even Bruce next chapter so stay tuned for that! I hope you guys liked it and I'll see you next time!
> 
> MS


	8. Splintering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In celebration of not only my favorite comic book character's birthday, but also the 1 year anniversary of this fic, here is another chapter! I think it has a little bit of everything so hopefully you guys like it! Enjoy and Happy Birthday to the one and only Jason Todd!!

**Bruce**

 

Bruce sits, like he always does, chin resting in his hands with a scowl planted firmly on his face. Today the particular reason for his scowl is that Cassandra didn’t come home from patrol last night and has turned off her coms and tracker, as well as Barbara. That makes 6 of his children- or wards- responsibilities- proteges- he shakes his head to clear the misdirection in his train of thought. The point is the only member of his… team that he actually knows the whereabouts of is Duke, who is off doing something that Bruce knows he told him about but… He’s sure he’s fine, he is Duke afterall, the least problematic person out of them all. 

 

Bruce presses against the tension in his jaw and rolls his shoulders in a vain attempt to fend off the soreness in his joints. It was a quiet night last night, really the whole week has been quiet. It’s odd and a part of Bruce is almost unsettled by it. Everything feels off kilter, and has since that night a little over two weeks ago. He can’t ignore the feeling in his chest, the ache hold Jason in his arms, to keep him hidden away, out of danger. Safe, and protected from everyone and himself. A bubble of self hatred rises up through his brain.  _ You broke him Bruce. You did this to him, to all of them.  _

 

Alfred approaches with a breakfast they both know he won’t eat. He drops the tray on the table in front of him anyway, no particular malice evident in his actions but Bruce can feel the disappointment radiating from him all the same. Alfred reveals a plate of fruit and eggs and sausage and steps back slightly, waiting for Bruce to tell him to take it away because he isn’t hungry. Bruce looks up at him for a moment, realizing for the first time just how much this has affected the man who raised him. Guilt simmers up through his chest and he lowers his gaze.  _ Look what you’ve done to them, you’ve taken away Alfred’s family too.  _

 

“Thank you Alfred.” Bruce nearly whispers down to his plate. He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. Alfred remains silent beside him for several moments before turning to leave. Bruce turns to him suddenly and reaches out to catch his wrist. 

 

“Wait, Alfred.” He says with more of a tremble in his voice than he anticipated.

 

“Yes, Master Bruce?” He responds calmly.

 

“Do you know where they are? The kids? Where are they?” Bruce asks, a hint of desperation clinging to his words. Alfred turns back to him and there is true anger in his eyes as he looks down at Bruce.

 

“You’re the world’s greatest detective Sir, I’m sure you can figure it out.” Alfred says, a flame behind his words. He turns to leave once more, pulling his arm from Bruce’s grasp.

 

“Alfred, please.” Bruce calls after his retreating form. “Alfred!” He calls again but Alfred continues his retreat without a second glance.

 

“I’m sorry!” Bruce yells. This causes the butler to pause, and glance over his shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry, okay? I made a mistake, a horrible one, I fucked everything up! I broke apart our family! Again! Okay, I’m sorry! Is that what you wanted to hear?” Bruce pushes himself away from the table hard enough to disturb the blueberries on his plate. Alfred nearly smiles as he turns back to approach the distraught young man.

 

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to Bruce.” The old man says gently as he lay a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Now you better get started, they’ll be hard to find. You taught them well.”

 

Alfred collects the plate on the table and leaves Bruce alone in the warm shafts of morning sun. Standing, Bruce makes his way to the cave, because he’s made a promise to himself starting now, that he’ll see his kids tonight.

  
  


**Roy**

  
  


“You shouldn’t have followed me. You shouldn’t have come here, not when Jay needs you.” Roy grumbles into his untouched pancakes in front of him.

 

“Neither should you.” Dick replies as he settles into to booth opposite Roy. They sit in silence for awhile, both at a loss for words. The dinner is quiet too, it’s just after the morning rush and everyone else has gone off to work. Roy lets himself wonder, just for a second, what that would be like. What it would be like to be just like everyone else. He bets that he’d spend a lot less time watching his friends die. A shiver makes its way up his spine and Dick watches it from across the table.

 

“Why are you here Roy?” Dick finally asks, distributing the sounds of dishes being washed that Roy was focussing on. Roy shrugs one shoulder and looks down to his pancakes. They lay cold and untouched, the aftermath of a plan he was sure would shake the gooseflesh from his skin. Dick watches him shiver again, and this time a strange intensity falls in behind his eyes. Suddenly he has one of Roy’s arms in his grasp and before Roy can react he’s ripped his sleeve up to reveal the crook of his elbow. Roy jerks his arm away instinctively and sits in starled shock for a moment.

 

Dick falls back into the crinkling leather and heaves a sigh. Roy wants to yell something at him about trust or maybe privacy or-or something! But no words come, and can he even blame him for thinking it anyway? Roy settles for angrily yanking down his sleeve and crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

 

“I’m sorry Roy I just-” Dick starts, guilt clinging to his words.

 

“Yeah I know. You just wanted to be sure I didn’t use. I get it okay, can we drop it now?” Roy huffs out defensively. He can tell he’s acting a little like a child but he can’t bring himself to care.

 

“Sure. Yeah, we can drop it. We can drop it after you tell he why you ran out when Jason was having his… episode this morning.” Dick says as he leans forward and puts his elbows on the table. Roy groans. Fucking Dick Grayson, always getting under his skin. A surge of a multitude of emotions swarms Roy’s mind at once, freezing his tongue momentarily. He swallows hard and when he goes to speak his words burn hot with loathing.

 

“Because maybe not everyone is as perfect as the great Dick Grayson, and maybe I’ve already been watching him fall apart for what feels like a year already. I just couldn’t take it! I’m not perfect like you are, okay? I knew he was in good hands and I couldn’t do anything more and I had to run away. I just had too, okay? I had to get out of there before I fell apart and was even more useless than I already am! So how about you give me a fucking break!” Roy stands and storms out with the sound of Dick calling after him. He’s starting to tremble again and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to hold himself together. With Killer Croc back in ARGUS custody he’s left, once again, with no one in his corner.

 

The day blurs by as he walks from bench to bench, park to park with the hope of finding a place that clears his head. No such luck. Several hours later when the sun begins to set, Roy settles on a bench overlooking the sea. He lets himself try to breathe in time with the waves and tries to ignore the fact that Dick has been following him for the past hour or two. He really does know him too well.

 

“If you’re going to stalk me you might as well sit down.” Roy calls over his shoulder. Dick hesitates and then walks over as casually as he can manage and joins Roy to watch the sun set. They sit in a comfortable silence before Dick speaks up. 

 

“Cassandra and Barbara showed up today.” He begins. “They brought more medical supplies and helped keep an eye on Jay. He slept most of the day though, but Tim said he had another episode later this morning while we were all still sleeping. I think he’s doing better but I am still worried about the internal bleeding, if Jason so much as sneezes too hard we’ll have to take him to the hospital and no one wants that.” There’s another long pause before he adds “ I’m sorry, about earlier Roy. I should’ve trusted you.” 

 

 “yeah, you should have.”Roy responds, words icy cold against the balmy evening air. Dick’s shoulder’s fall and Roy decides right there to forgive Dick Grayson, for all he’s done. He decides right here in this moment that every single horrible thing he’s done to him, or Jason, or Kori is forgiven. Because why stay angry at someone when you live in a world where they can be so easily taken away? And Roy knows Dick loves his brothers, and his friends with a special kind of passion. He acted out of concern and that concern comes from love. He just has to remember that the next time he does something stupid. 

 

Roy looks over at his oldest friend, the weight of his family's life digging into his shoulders. And for the first time in a long time Roy feels so sorry for him. He smiles slightly as he says “it was a real  _ dick _ move.” 

 

Dick smiles too, because this phrase erases all pending apologies between them. The air lightens significantly and the itch for a fix that has been hunting him for weeks fades away as they smile together. The two of them chuckle, and with the past left behind them they watch the sun retreat behind the horizon in comfortable companionship, before standing and walking home. 

 

**Jason**

 

It’s late by the time Jason wakes, a cold sweat making his clothes cling to his skin in a way that makes him shiver even harder. Tim sits beside him, half asleep, trying his best to stay alert. Barbara and Cass must have found a place nearby to stay because Jason can’t see them. He tries to twist his neck to get a better look but the pain freezes his muscles and he jerks slightly in discomfort. His entire body hurts in a way he hasn’t experienced in a long time. It lingers in every joint, every stiff muscle and every inch of skin. But none of that compares to the burning pain in his chest, or the lingering feeling of tearing in his shoulder or the red, hot, sticky, swollen agony that occupies his head and face. Just to name a few. 

 

As he tries to breathe through the recent tide of blinding pain he remembers about how someone mentioned his birthday was a few weeks ago. He thinks maybe he should care, but so far the only thing he’s been able to care about is how much he doesn’t want to be alive. The lump in his throat suggests tears but he has none left to spare. He’s gone empty again. 

 

Jason lets his eyes slide shut and after awhile he picks up a faint rustling sound. Jason doesn’t know why but the sound seems soothing. Tim begins to snore softly beside him and if he weren’t so angry and his brain and body weren’t on fire, Jason could feel how content he would be in this moment. There is soft footfall by the wall across from him and fear prickles in his gut, but not enough to disturb him or to warrant the effort of opening his eyes.

 

Soft leather against his undamaged cheek, and for just a second, just one, he wants nothing more than the ability to lean into it. Then the realization reaches his mind and the two pieces fit together.

 

Jason’s eyes fly open to reveal a pitch black silhouette hovering over him. The soft leather retreats from his face very suddenly leaving it cold in the open air. His body freezes in terror, and he begins to tremble. His mind can’t decide if the nightmare is real or not, which just makes the fear louder and louder. His brain trips over itself and he silently begs for the beast to disappear back into the night.  _ Please don’t hurt me again. _

 

__ The figure seems oblivious to Jason’s current state of fear and simply looms over him silently for a few agonizingly long moments before speaking a hushed “Oh Jaybird. I’m sorry.”

 

Jason’s muscles are as rigid as glass now, held together with indecision and panic. His head starts to shake and small and quiet words tumble shakily from his mouth in a whisper. 

 

“Please no. Please no.” Jason repeats, his voice just above a whisper. The shadow merely cocks its head slightly. Then it reaches out a hand, dark and murky like ink in water.

 

Jason begins to scramble backward on the couch and scream, his mind filled to the brim with lava and his chest heavy with panic. 

 

“GET AWAY!” DON’T TOUCH ME!” He shouts at the shadowy figure who startles back at the noise. There are voices swarming him, sleepy and confused. The shadow reaches for him again and this time in his fear Jason falls from the couch to the floor. People are pulling the shadow away but his vision is so red Jason can’t seem to see. There is a bold metallic taste in his mouth and his body convulses violently against the hardwood floors. Hands reach down to hold him steady bust he’s falling into hot blackness and he’s drowning in the bold liquid that forces its way up is windpipe. Jason lets himself fall, fall away from the shadow and the hands and the agony and he lets the darkness cradle him it it’s warmth. 

 

Jason welcomes the darkness back as poppy colored puddles force their way from his mouth, he’s on fire and it’s burning him away. Away to dust and ash. Dust and ash that can be blown away. 

 

So Jason burns and is blown away into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What do you guys think? I'm sorry if it feels a little rushed, I moved into college today so I was super busy and really wanted to get this published today. All that aside, either this next chapter of the one after will be super short but SUPER special to me so stay tuned for that. Until next time,
> 
>  
> 
> MS


	9. Rip Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone I'm back yet again! I honestly have no idea how I am going to wrap up this story so please shoot me any suggestions you may have. In all honesty I never expected it to go on this long. Anyway, here we are with yet another chapter, this one is pretty long and pretty heart breaking so be ready for some feels. Also my medical knowledge is fairly limited so forgive me in advance. Hope you guys enjoy!

**Damian**

There was blood everywhere. It came in rivers from his nose and mouth and ears and Todd just lay there, convulsing in it, soaking his clothing with deep crimson stains. Damian stares at the puddle now, it’s empty and has begun to congeal, but he can’t seem to stop looking at it. He has obviously seen surpluses of blood before, most times in far greater volume than what sits before him. But this, he convinces himself, is different. It has to be if he’s behaving this way. He thinks back to it again, the screaming, the sound of him hitting the floor, the gurgling. There was a rare fear that had settled into his gut, pulling him to the ground. Blood soaked pant legs. 

 

They’ve gone stiff now, as they’ve dried over the last hour or so. But they were warm once, warm and slick and they clung to his skin. His reaction was not one he had expected, he’s the type of person that protects before he defends against danger. In fact, it took him until now to realize the oddity of the situation. He didn’t once look up for danger, he didn’t once perceive the threat that stood a mere six feet from him. No, he just fell into that hot, sticky puddle and tried to hold Todd on his side. 

 

Anger crawls int’s way up through his body, turning his ears red. He’d been foolish and naive. He should have fought or done something of use! He was useless, he could’ve done more- he should've done so much more! Anger replaced by hatred in an instant and he finds he feels the need to be punished, to be struck down so that he would never- never- make those mistakes again. But the face staring back at him from the maroon puddle stops him short. The boy in the puddle wears an angry scowl yet has tears streaming steadily down his face. Damian swipes at his cheeks, the skin there is hot with rage and… damp. Damp with tears he hadn’t noticed he had shed. 

Grayson appears beside him, looking worse for wear, hair damp from his recent shower. The two of them had come back to the apartment to grab a few things, books and clothes and other such amenities. Damian makes no effort to wipe his face clean, nor does Grayson comment on it, instead the two of them stare into the ever-darkening mass on the floor totally speechless. Exhaustion weighs upon them like a heavy rain and Damian finds it difficult to think straight.

 

“You should you shower Dami.” Grayson says suddenly. He looks down and gestures to the child’s gory attire. “Wash Jason’s blood off of you.” He swallows hard and looks back to the puddle. “Then we can head back to the hospital.” 

Besides the obvious issues that came with trying to get To- Jason to the hospital, there was a whole other side of things such as his name, the names of his companions, what had happened to him and everything else that goes along with it. In all honesty the entire ordeal had been completely draining, not to mention terrifying. 

 

Damian nods in Grayson’s general direction and snags some clothes from his bag as he makes his way to the shower. Under the scalding spray Damian scrubs the blood from his skin in earnest, forcing the crimson memories down the drain and far away. His skin burns but he welcomes the feeling, as foolish as it may seem. He uses the sensation in an attempt to ground his thoughts that swirl like the poppy colored bubbles around the drain by his feet, but they continue to spin, and he can’t seem to make sense of them. Damian shuts off the water and steps cold onto the tile floor bright pink and tingling. Mindlessly he dries himself, gets dressed and reaches out to turn the knob.

 

Hearing voices coming from the living room stops him short. Damian puts his restless mind aside and silently approaches the closed door. Putting his ear up to the peeling paint, he listens closely to the angry words outside.

 

“Step out of my way Dick. I’m not going to ask you again.” Growls Bruce. Damian’s head begins to spin again. Father? Why is he here? Why has he returned? 

 

“Or what Bruce? Are you gonna hit me?” Says Grayson angrily, snapping Damian out of his rattled thoughts. 

 

“No Dick I would-” Father begins.

 

“You would what Bruce?! You would never hit me? Why? Why not me? Huh? Have you finally learned something?” Grayson yells. The tension through the door climbs higher as Father refuses to speak. Guilt and anger and loathing seeps through the splintered wood.

 

“Why did you even come here?” Grayson continues, rage coating his words. “Did you want to see your handy work Bruce?!? Well look here, that puddle right there. That's your handy work!!” There’s another pause before Grayson shouts again. “ **Say something god dammit!!** ”

 

“What would you like me to say?” Spits father. When no answer comes Damian listens as Father leaves through the window he came from. Grayson lets out a strangled noise and there’s the sound of crashing furniture as he tries to soften the anger inside of him. Damian slides down the door and waits, waits for the exhaustion to come and take the rage away. He waits for some kind of relief, some kind of answer to the question that’s been bouncing inside his head. _Father, who are you?_

 

A faint sob reaches him through the door and Damian finds himself making his way to his feet. Opening the door soundlessly he can just make out Grayson’s shaking form amongst the heaps of scattered furniture around him. He’s on his hands and knees scrubbing away at the floor angrily. Hot tears travel down his face as he sobs. Damian simply watches for a moment as the stress, and fear, and guilt, and anger, and exhaustion descend upon Grayson, leaving him weak and shaky. He waits for Grayson to steady his breathing before walking out to him and watching him wipe up the last trace of blood from the floor. 

 

“Grayson.” Damian’s voice sounds small and he clears his throat harshly. Grayson sits back on his heels and looks up to Damian tiredly. “Grayson, has-” He wants to say father, but the word burns in his throat. “Has Bruce gone back to Gotham?” Damian finishes tightly.

 

“I don’t know Dami, I hope so.” Grayson answers, running a hand stained red through his damp hair. “C’mon, let’s go. I don’t want anything to happen while we’re gone.” Grayson says as he hoists himself up and throws the towel he was using in the trash. Grayson grabs their bags and opens the door to leave. Damian is still frozen, staring at the red mark on the floor. He has no idea why this is having such an effect on him. It seems preposterous. 

 

“Damian, he’s gonna be okay.” Grayson offers gently. 

 

“There is no way for you to know such a thing at this time Grayson.” Damian answers.

 

Grayson huffs a small laugh. “I guess you’re right. But I can hope, can't I? C’mon little D, let’s get moving.” 

As Damian turns away and walks out of the darkened apartment a voice offers an answer to a question he’s been trying to work out. Why the pain and injuries of his so-called brothers weighs so heavily on him. 

_ You love them you imbecile. _

Damian tells the voice that such a conclusion is preposterous, but he can’t help but smile at the suggestion. 

**Alfred**

He was already packing a bag when he got the call from Master Timothy. The boy was frantic, exhausted and enraged to name a few. Alfred watched the whole thing unfold through the suit’s feed and he could barely believe his own eyes. Poor Master Jason broken yet again, lay in pieces on that poor excuse for a sofa bed. Then the boy began to tremble and whisper softly to himself. It was hard to make out the words in his rich bowery accent that he’d tried so hard to hide throughout his youth. The boy looked cold if anything, the eye that wasn’t swollen shut was half-lidded and stared up at Bruce with as much strength as the young sir could manage.

 

Alfred couldn’t help but remark to himself at how small the boy looked. He hardly resembled the six foot and one-hundred-and-eighty-pound wall of pure muscle he has been since returning. No, he now more closely resembled the scrawny seventy-five pound fifteen-year-old that tumbled into the manor that one fateful day. The sight made the older man weary, his heart ached for his boy. His beautiful brilliant boy who loved tea and chess and Shakespeare and building engines. So bright, so full of potential so kind and strong in his smallness. That boy had died though and returned to them broken and twisted and in desperate need of someone or something to hold onto. 

Alfred’s blood runs cold as he enters Master Jason’s room with an empty bag in hand. What to take with him? What pieces still fit? Alfred busies himself by nearly emptying the young man’s bookshelves and packing his personalized chess board. He folds soft red hoodies and nestles them into the duffle. It’s when he gets to Jason’s few treasured photographs that he takes pause. How painful could they be after everything that has happened to him? Alfred’s hands shake and he holds them close to his chest to head off the waves of emotions coursing through his body. 

He looks down at them, the few precious memories Jason has chosen to keep here, secure in the knowledge that they will be safe here. A photograph Of Master Jason with his colleagues Miss Kori and Roy Harper, a second one beside it with his second team of Miss Artemis and the superman clone Bizarro. Clipped to it is a beautiful photo of Miss Artemis in a rather stunning evening gown, smirking back at him playfully. Alfred turns it around in his hands to find Master Jason’s neat handwriting.  _ Thanks for keeping me humble A.  _

Alfred takes these three and folds them carefully into Master Jason’s well annotated copy of Moby Dick. The three photos left on the shelf are one of him and his brothers out in the yard one day, each of them caked in mud and beaming with reckless joy. Then of course the photo of him with Master Jason. Alfred stands stoically as usual, but the young lad pokes out from behind him, a smile on his face and a cookie in his hand. Alfred collects these two as well. Leaving only one. The photo of Master Jason with Bruce at his Robin graduation of sorts. The two of them smile honestly in the photo. A rarity to say the least, a memory trapped like lightning in a bottle. 

Alfred picks it up gently as if it may explode in his hands. He carefully takes it and the two bags he’s packed downstairs. He packs the car in silence and fills the dog bowls in the pantry. Patting the two dogs goodbye he leaves the photograph and a note on the table as he locks up the manor and drives away. 

  
  


**Dick**

It was a long and silent walk from the car to the waiting room. He and Damian walked in stride with each other, heads buzzing, with no words to offer the other. When they enter the waiting room it’s eerily quiet, Dick thinks for a moment about how they must turn off the happy elevator music after midnight so as not to drive the receptionists insane. The group looks worse for wear all half awake and riddled with anxiety. Damian and Dick set their backpacks on the floor beside their chairs and settle in with the rest. The floor seems to quiver in time with the rapid bouncing of Roy’s left foot and Dick has to concentrate on his breathing so as not to yell at the man.

Tim stands suddenly and approaches the man behind the desk for the third time tonight. The man stops him before he even gets a chance to speak.

“Sir, I have already told you, your brother is still in surgery. When an update on your brother becomes available then I will let you know.” Says the man tiredly. He and Tim share a long stare before Tim sighs and returns to his seat with an angry huff of frustration. 

Hours pass, they all remain the same. Damian asleep, curled into a tight ball. Barbara typing away at her laptop. Cassandra simply sits and stares. Tim and Roy both hold their heads in their hands and re-adjust themselves every few moments. Kori reads one of the books Dick had packed from the apartment. And Dick just watches them all. Just watches them silently as a steady tension grows in his shoulders. He answers a call from Alfred at about 6:12 am and steps outside to speak with him. 

He tells him everything, what had happened, his argument with Bruce, how useless he feels just sitting around while his little wing lay sliced open on a cold metal table. Alfred reassures him, tells him that he’s packed them all some stuff from the manor, that he’ll be there by late afternoon. The talk with Alfred feels good but once they’ve disconnected the aching feeling in his gut returns in earnest, demanding to be acknowledged. He rejoins the group yet again and for another hour or so they sit, they wait for what seems like an eternity. Dick watches time pass on the back of a turtle in front of him. He begs it to move faster, just this once, he begs. 

Around 8 that morning the surgeon enters the waiting room, her gown brightly decorated with Jason’s blood. The group freezes in anticipation and Dick finds himself standing. The surgeon looks down to her clipboard before looking up to address them.

“Are you the family of a Mr. Todd Peters?” The woman asks. 

“Yes.” Dick blurts out suddenly. He takes a breath and tries again. “Yes, we are.”

The woman looks at the odd group before her before speaking again.

“Well, he was in very bad shape when he came in, but he pulled through and is resting in the ICU.” She pauses just long enough for the group to deflate before continuing. “He did lose a significant amount of blood during surgery, but we managed to get the internal bleeding under control. It is really his head that I am most worried about now.” She pauses to flip the pages on her clipboard and by looking at her face, Dick can tell she’s not eager to tell them what is written on it.

“The seizure he experienced this morning was the result of the swelling in his brain, which consequently caused the mass of internal bleeding. To help with the swelling we had to drill a hole in his head to ease the pressure on his brain.” She stops again to make sure they all understand. Dick sinks back into his chair and nods to reassure her but in all honesty, it feels like his brain has been dipped in TV static. She’s waiting for someone to ask a question, he knows that, but they’ve all been trained in medicine. They just weren't expecting… this.

She makes one last glance between them before speaking again. “Todd also has a fracture to the head of his left humerus and a  Lateral Malleolus Fracture to his right ankle. So, we have put a cast on both of those injuries. He also has several sprained and strained ligaments and tendons in his right knee and wrist all of which have been wrapped to help speed up the healing process. We also took a look at his right eye, there should be no permanent vision loss, but his orbital socket is fractured so we’ll be checking on it once the swelling goes down.” She finishes and drops her clipboard to her side before looking down to Damian before speaking again.

“He’s not completely out of the woods yet, and he might look a little scary when you see him, but I’m confident he’ll be okay.” She attempts a smile and looks up to address the group. “A nurse will be along shortly to take you to him.” 

“Thank you so much doctor.” Says Tim. The surgeon smiles and leaves. The team collapses back into their chairs and Dick’s head is swimming so fast he can’t even think straight.

“Jesus Christ.” Whispers Roy from across from him. Dick can’t help but agree.

The nurse arrives moments later but when they all stand to go, she stops them.

“I’m so sorry but since Mr. Peters is in the ICU and it isn’t technically visiting hours yet, I can only take one of you back to see him.” She says with an apologetic nature to her voice. Dick is just about to volunteer himself when another voice cuts him off.

“I’ll go.” Says Barbara. Dick looks down to meet her eyes rather stunned. “Please.” She says simply. Dick hesitates before slowly sitting down and watching as Barbara wheels herself after the nurse and out of sight.

 

**Barbara**

She hesitates outside of the door, hands gripping the wheels of her chair so hard they tremble. She doesn't know what to expect, she doesn’t know what she’s ready for. All she wants- _really wants_ \- is for that door to open and for Jason to be sitting cross legged in bed, a book in his lap and his tongue just barely peeking out the side of his mouth in concentration. Scribbling tiny words into the margins, spilling his thoughts onto the page like spilt ink. She wants him to look up and catch her gaze, for him to smile sheepishly and brush his curls from his eyes. “ _What are you looking at Barbie?”_ She’d tell him not to call her that and he’d laugh. 

“ _ What are you waiting out there for? C’mon I got somethin’ I wanna show you. C’mon Babs I don’t bite”  _ He’d wave her in, eyes bright and playful. He’d have no scars, no pain in his eyes. No nightmares just waiting for him to fall asleep to descend upon his fragile mind.  _ “Well not anymore anyway.”  _ He’d add and gnash his teeth together a few times for good measure and laugh again. He’d wave his hand to dismiss it and pat the space beside him. He’d ask her to come sit with him and listen to this one part, just this one. And then he’d read to her for hours.

That’s what she  _ wants  _ to see. What she wishes it could’ve been. If only he’d never gone looking for that woman who had already abandoned him once. If only he didn’t think he needed her so desperately. Then everything-  **everything** \- could be different.

The nurse opens the door and looks back to Barbara, still clutching her chair tightly. 

“Whenever you’re ready. Just holler if you need anything.” The nurse cracks the door open and steps away leaving Barbara alone in the dim hallway. Cautiously Barbara wheels herself to the door and nudges it open gently, once inside she pushes it closed behind her and sits by the door with her head down. She doesn’t want to look at him just yet.

The air is so still it’s almost like the room has been frozen in time. If it weren't for the steady sound of the ventilator Barbara would have been convinced it was. Pressing a button on her chair she raises herself up and lifts her head to look at him.

Chills race across her skin and she’s hit with a surge of emotion so strong she has to clamp and hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. He’s deathly pale and small before her. Bundled in several layers of blankets with pillows and towels nuzzled in around him to keep his body aligned. His right foot sticks out of the sheets, slightly elevated and wrapped heavily in plaster. Same goes for his entire left shoulder. His face is mostly obscured, his head is wrapped tightly in gauze and it takes Barbara a moment to remember why. His dark curls stick out from under the white fabric in wisps. His right eye is bandaged heavily and his other is so dark with sleeplessness it looks bruised. The rest of his face is nearly hidden by the tube protruding from his throat, forcing him to breathe in time. The warm towel that was supposed to be on his forehead has begun to slide down his face. 

Barbara reaches forward to adjust it, when her fingers brush against warm skin she shudders, and in a moment of weakness rests her hand against his warm cheek. Soaking in his warmth, letting it calm her, letting it erase every bad thing that has happened. This is what she used to do when he was young and would fall asleep on the couch watching a movie or in the cave after a long night, she would go to wake him but before doing so she would rest her hand there, on his cheek.

She pulls away and moves to brush his curls away, then she sits back and grabs his hand with both of hers. Unlike his cheek his hand is icy cold, and she rubs it gently between her own in an attempt to warm it. Looking at his face she remembers something, something that she hadn’t let herself think about in years.

He had loved her once, truly, deeply loved her in a way she had never reciprocated. But he had truly loved her. And he loves her now, in a different way but yes, he still loves her, and she knows that. She loves him too and loved him then but in such a different way it’s cruel to call them both love. Jason had always held her to the highest regard, always respected her and wanted nothing more than the approval she gave to Dick Grayson. A little boy always waiting to be seen by her. They have moved past it obviously, and despite her animosity towards him at times, she will  **never** be able to hate him. There is nothing he could do or say that could change that, and maybe that’s why she’s always so sharp when it comes to him, because it hurts that she missed her chance to show that little boy that just being himself was plenty good enough for her.

She wipes tears from her eyes before she allows them to fall. She has no right to be broken, so she will be whole. She will be strong and whole,  _ a knight in shining armor  _ he had called her.

She sits there with him, in the quiet for so long the sun rises and the nurses come to take his breathing tube out. They tell her that he’ll still be asleep for a while and truth be told she’s grateful. She doesn’t want him to wake up just yet, because then the pain will come. No, she just wants him to sleep. And maybe, just maybe, her being here will be enough to keep the nightmares away. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened. Next chapter Jason will be awake and it's going to be something very important to me, depending on my homework load tomorrow I might post it then so stay tuned! All will be explained when the chapter is published. Hope you guys liked this chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> Until next time,
> 
>  
> 
> MS


	10. Waltzing Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK guys so this little piece of writing you're about to read is very special to me. I wrote it with the help of my uncle who just so happens to be best selling author so it's at it's peak right now. It is a stand alone short with zero context usually but I thought it fit in with the story so well that I've decided to add it in. I didn't want to change anything about this work so that you guys could see it in it's natural state so for that reason this chapter is in first person, so don't let that throw you off. I have never shared this work before so I really hope you guys enjoy!

They waltz on the ceiling spinning and spinning, tripping and bleeding into each other.  They entrance me as they fall into each other, raise each other up, twisted in a dark embrace. I  want so badly to reach for them, to join them dancing up on the ceiling, weightless and whole  and together. A sob breaks from my throat as gauze wrapped fingers stretch weakly towards the  dancing figures, pleading silently for them to see me, to grab my hands and pull me with them  far away from the bleach white sheets and polished linoleum.

 

Desperate mutters send fire through my ribs.

“Plea-se… ple-”

Throat burning with disuse, I swallow hard and try again.

“Please… take. My… h’nd… ple-...”

The dizziness comes. Another cough, my muscles ache with frustration. I gasp again,  pushing myself farther off the sweat-soaked mattress.

“PLEASE!”

On the ceiling, they turn to me, a bitter sweetness radiating from their tangled silhouettes.  Still tied in the sheets, my broken body imprisons me, draining me; but the shadows are stronger.  They climb down to me, with burning eyes I stretch to meet them. They embrace me, smiling  sweetly and I’m touching them, grasping their hands and laughing with relief. My heart beat  breaks against the rhythm of the night and they tell me not to be afraid.

_ No. No I’m… not! I’m not afraid! I’m not afraid. I’m not. _

When the light comes it burns the shadows away, they flee, abandon me to collapse back  into the solitude of tear-stained sheets.

“No… no…”

Ragged excuses for words tumble mournfully from my lips. There are people  surrounding me, hands on my bare and battered chest, fingers redressing wounds, words fall  towards me, unnoticed. I want to fight them, to clutch my head in my hands and scream as loud  as I can, loud enough for someone to hear me.

My eyes refuse to leave the tiles above my head – now empty in the last rays of evening  sun – and in my solitude a sob rips its way through me. Tears burn in my face, and I want to push  away the tubes and hands, rip the IV from my arm, tear the oxygen cannulas from my face, shut  off the light and leave me in the sanctuary of darkness. Leave me without medicine and with all  the pain my body demands to feel, and then let me feel it. I… I want to feel.

_ Free me. _ I beg.  _ Free me. _

Without the strength to speak I’m left with only the power to set my jaw and point my empty gaze to the tiles above my head. The darkness returns… but the shadows do not reappear. The monitors blare with the steady rhythm of my heart, but I long for silence. So I lay wrapped in darkness, trapped by despair, gasping for closure that doesn’t come and won’t. Alone, imprisoned in my solitude. Waiting, _ praying,  _ for the waltzing shadows to come and take me  away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you guys thought, or who you want to hear from next! I read all of your comments so your voice does matter and I take them all into account when I'm writing!
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> MS


	11. When Glass Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Hope you guys enjoy!

**Tim**

They had to put him under again, yesterday evening after he woke he- well something happened and he nearly crashed again. None of them were with him at the time, Alfred had escorted all of them to the cafeteria to eat something. Or more accurately to force low grade hospital food down their throats. The look on Damian’s face was almost worth how mediocre the meal was. Alfred had been able to convince Kori, Roy, Damian and Barbara to head back to the apartment for some much needed sleep. That left Dick, Alfred, Cass and of course Tim. Insisting he didn’t want to crowd the young man Alfred left to run some errands and… Well Tim knows he told him but his mind seems to have drifted away from the memory. So the three of them sit outside Jason’s room while the doctors work on re-fixing him, changing bandages, replacing IV bags, and updating his chart. They wanted to restrain him, to prevent any future replays of what had happened earlier in the night. Tim had convinced them to not, since he knows that if Jason woke up in restraints he would do far more damage to himself. 

Cass sits perched on the arm of Tim’s chair, pulled tightly into herself, watching the doctors work with unwavering attention. Dick sits with his head resting against his left hand. His cheek pushed up by his hand to give his face that swollen chipmunk quality. His eyes are open, but only just. Tim finds himself staring at Jason’s face through the glass, his eyebrows pinched in anxious focus even in sleep. Tim bounces his leg so hard his vision shakes slightly. Jason’s surgeon walks out of the room and stops in front of them. The three of them look up to her in unison and sit forward slightly.

“Todd is doing well considering. He gave us quite a scare but he is stable for now.” She pauses, as if contemplating whether or not to continue. 

“During yesterday’s lucidity your brother seemed to be speaking to someone in his struggle. Although hallucinations are to be expected with head trauma so severe, I would just like to make you aware of the psychiatric services we offer here, just in case he were to worsen.” She extends a pamphlet to them. None of them reach to retrieve it, deciding only to stare at it as if it would vanish if they thought on it hard enough. Eventually it’s Cass who takes it from her and holds it delicately in her small hands. The doctor nods curtly and leaves without another word. 

Tim watches as his brother and sister stand and make their way into Jason’s hospital room, settling into another set of chairs that face his bed. Tim forces himself up and grimaces at the stiffness in his joints as he moves. Tim takes a seat in the third chair the staff had brought in and placed by Jason’s head to compensate for the amount of people spending time in the room with him. A young woman finishes up his chart silently, going over wrappings and checking off items on her checklist. She’s just about to leave before she stops, pausing at the door in indecision. She turns swiftly to face the room and looks to the three of them. 

“What happened to him?” She asks uncertainty. The question takes them all by surprise in their current state and they gape at her for a moment. “I’m sorry, it’s just- well I don’t mean to pry. I shouldn’t have asked you I’m sorry. I’m an intern and I was- nevermind I am so sorry.” She stumbles over her words as she goes to leave, the flush in her cheeks barely visible under her caramel skin.

“He was jumped walking home from work.” Dick says kindly, supplying the story we had told them when we brought him in. “He… he lives in a bad part of town.” Dick adds with a soft smile, a reassurance that her curiosity is welcomed and that she doesn’t have to apologize. She steps back into the room slowly, hands twisting around each other behind her back. She’s nervous, Tim can see it clear as day, but yet she stays. It makes Tim think it’s more than just curiosity that pulls her back to Jason’s side, a concentrated look pulling her eyebrows down into a frown. 

“Not this.” She says then she flushes again. “I’m sorry- I mean I read his chart about the mugging. Not now, but then.” She adds. Her face takes on a strange intensity and Tim finds himself leaning in to watch her. “These scars.” She finishes, fingers ghosting across a scar at Jason’s temple.

Tim shudders slightly. It’s not an easy answer, not in the slightest. A large majority of Jason’s scars even he and Dick don’t know the origin off. One dark night after Tim had stumbled back into his safe house bleeding all over his designer carpet, it was Jason he found himself calling for help. Jason didn’t judge him or scold him or guilt him into changing, he would complain and pretend that the whole ordeal was such an inconvenience “ _ I had a nice book and a whiskey waiting for me Timbo, I hope you realize the sacrifices I make for your dumb ass.”  _

He had patched him up and sat by to monitor him for awhile before going back to his watered down whiskey _. “Do you understand how depressing watered down whiskey is Timbo?”  _ The night had been long and Tim had been drugged and he had asked Jason about those scars on his temples, the ones that look like cracked glass. Jason had resisted but eventually he came and sat on the foot of Tim’s bed and told him about some of his scars. He did it in such a tone it sounded like someone telling a bedtime story to a child, not in a teasing way, but in a matter-of-fact-free-of-pity way. He had told him that those glassy scars are from his time spent with the Joker, cold metal on flesh. He had shown him the scar at the nape of his neck from getting caught stealing when he was eleven. The Y-shaped incision from his autopsy. 

There are countless others from living on the street, or his training after his resurrection, training with Bruce, drunken nights with his father, cold nights protecting Catherine, his time as Red Hood and of course his death at the hands of the Joker. He had admitted to Tim that night that he’d even been tortured a number of times. “ _ Even I don’t know where some of them came from, but shitty crap happens Timmy. And hell, I’m still kicking.”  _ He had said and adjusted the blankets around him. When Tim woke the following morning he was gone, and they have never spoken of it since.

Tim Looks over to Dick, who also knows the true origin of those glassy scars on Jason’s temple, and tries to think of an explanation. They’re silent so long it breaks the girl’s concentration and her head snaps up to them again.

“I’m sorry I just couldn’t help but notice them all during surgery and- well his x-rays are- well they’re… Any past trauma is helpful for a complete medical history if you can provide it but, I’m also just… curious.” She says, this time standing her ground and smiling sweetly at them. Tim’s mouth is still sealed shut, how could he possibly explain all of those scars in a way that won’t frighten her, in a way that won’t incriminate Jason? Tim’s mind is just about to implode when Dick speaks up from across the room, barely visible in the shadowy twilight.

“Well he grew up on the streets. After his parents died -we’re adopted siblings- he had to fend for himself for years. He took the number of beatings before he turned 10. After he was adopted that street kid energy never really left. He… He did a lot of sports and got into a lot of fights, always sticking up for the little guy.” Dick smiles fondly for a moment, looking past the young girl towards a memory he can still see. Then his face falls, and his eyes darken. He looks back up to the woman and smiles sadly.

 “He... was in a horrible accident just after he turned 15. It wasn't his fault -he was- well, it was someone else’s fault and that's where most of his scars come from. I don't know about most of them he would never tell me. It’s hard to get him to open up about it.” He finishes softly, gaze cast down to his hands.

Cassandra stares past the woman, eyes locked on Jason’s face with a soft sort of sadness in her eyes. Tim decides to join her, staring at the young man, barely twenty years old and yet so broken by his time on earth. The woman looks at her shoes for a moment, perhaps hoping her response lay hidden within her shoelaces. 

“Well, he’s lucky he has all of you.” She says, before smiling softly and leaving the room. The word tumbles around in Tim’s head, not quite fitting anywhere.  _ Lucky? _ Tim shakes his head slightly.  _ No, Jason’s never been lucky. _

**Bruce**

Bruce returned to the manor with the dawn. The dogs, who had been eagerly awaiting his return danced around his feet as he stepped into the eerily silent house. Bruce walked to the back of the house and let the dogs outside and then froze in the stillness of the manor. The house a sleeping beast against the rolling hills wet with dew. Not a light was on, not a sound other than the ever constant ticking of the grandfather clock in the ground floor study. Nothing.

The sunrise provides enough light for Bruce to make his way upstairs and to Alfred’s empty bedroom in the far corner of the house. Each room lay pristine in the static air. Bruce’s heart leaps into his throat as he races back downstairs in a panic, searching for any signs of struggle or distress, instead he finds the note. Still perched on the entryway side table, an overturned photograph beside it. Bruce picks up the letter and reads the neat words.

_ Master Bruce, _

_ As you may know I have a number of vacation days I have yet to take. So for the next week or more I will be spending time with family. I strongly suggest you get a hold of yourself and find a way to make amends with your children, after all without them, you have no one. _

_ Remind them of the man I know you are, _

_ Alfred  _

Bruce wrinkles the fine parchment in his grasp as he reads the letter over again. He gently places it back on the polished mahogany and turns over the photo. A sharp pain strikes his chest and lingers there as he gazes down at Jason’s smiling face. A surge of moments come crashing down on him, a kaleidoscope of memories that leave him numb. Two particular memories vying for his attention. Bruce closes his eyes and sinks into their grasp.

A young boy, Jason, just past twelve years old, stands before him. He’s beaming, his usual cocky smirk replaced with a smile bright enough to replace the sun. Hands on his hips he stands in his very first uniform.  _ “What do you think B-man? Ready for the best patrol of your life?”  _ Asks the young boy. He’s tiny before him, spindly muscles still struggling to hide his boney frame. The costume, although wonderful, is still just a little to large on his nimble body. It’s hard to believe this same boy will grow to be even bigger than Bruce himself. 

The small boy throws a few punches and kicks then turns to run to the Batmobile.  _ “C’mon Bruce there are asses that need kicking!”  _ He calls over his shoulder. Bruce yells at him to watch his language but he can’t help the smile that overtakes him. Jason flips onto the hood of the Batmobile, he’s not nearly as graceful as Dick was but he’s improving every day. Bruce stops to watch him for a second as he stands on top of polished metal.  _ “This is the best day of my life!”  _ Beams the young boy.

Bruce reaches out to touch that boy but he slips through his fingers like silk. Before him now is a young man, broken and slick with sweat. He trembles from the cold air on his bruised skin. Bruce slides through the window to stand before this young man, barely twenty years old. He’s larger now, much larger, over six feet tall and heavier than even himself. Weighed down with muscle and scars. He approaches silently and cups a leather clad hand on the man’s cheek. Suddenly the man’s eyes fly open- no, open isn’t the right word. One eye lay obscured by bandages and the other is so swollen with sleeplessness it has a hard time opening even wide enough to show the sea of blue underneath.

Bruce pulls away, his veins ice inside him. His blood pumps an ocean past his ears making it hard to hear. He hates himself, hates how much blood his hands have spilled, his own family's blood. The man goes slightly rigid before him but Bruce can hardly see, eyes locked on that gloved hand, the one the man- the boy, used to lean into, used to crave, used to hold. Emotions are choking him now, and his hand trembles.  _ “Oh Jaybird. I’m sorry.”  _ Bruce manages through the grief in his throat.

The boy begins to whimper before him, words so small and drenched in fear Bruce can’t even make them out.  _ He must be having a nightmare.  _ The knight thinks, wracking his head for what he used to do when the nightmares would come back then. He cocks his head, mind spinning like a child’s top. Bruce reaches out his hand, to hold him, to chase the nightmares away. 

The boy jerks back violently, a scream in his throat, his movements slow and jagged and frantic. Bruce reaches out again upon instinct until the words come. Words thick with panic and hatred and fear. Fear directed at him. The words are strong enough to push Bruce back to the window in shock, mind fizzy with guilt. The young man falls from his makeshift cot to the floor, staining it red, convulsing and making those terrible wheezing choking sounds people make when they die. There are hands on him, hands he recognizes, pushing him, hitting him, shoving him back out onto the fire escape. Inside the boy continues to shake, drenched in blood and out of reach.

The memory knocks the air out of Bruce’s chest and he slides to the ground, clutching the picture close to his chest, a pitiful replacement of the boy he wants so desperately to hold there.  _ But no _ , he reminds himself,  _ no. That is no longer my privilege.  _ The words Jason had screamed conjure their way up from his mind and into the surrounding air.

“GET AWAY!” DON’T TOUCH ME!” 

 

Bruce brings a hand up to his mouth, using it as a barrier to keep his emotions at bay. The emptiness of the house swallows him until he’s left shaking, tears gathering in his eyes as he watches the sun rise and clutches Jason’s picture ever closer to his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now you guys know what happened that night with Bruce. I keep wanting to write him as the asshole I know he is but this sad and haunted man just keeps showing up in the pages. Let me know what you guys think! Until next time,
> 
>  
> 
> MS


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